Shores of Dusk
by Dave
Summary: FINISHED! Drizzt and Entreri are sent to an island tournament where their only chance of survival might be to work together.
1. Intro

Okay.  
  
For any of you out there that have been keeping track of me, and from the emails, I know there are a few, this is the first story I have written in a long time. This story has been sitting on my hard drive for about 9 months in this current state (unfinished), waiting for me to start writing again. Well a lot has been going on and I haven't had time, but now I want to make time. Posting this is kind of my motivation to get back on the horse, so to speak.  
  
So, now, on to the story.  
  
It is entitled Shores of Dusk.  
  
Yes, I know there is a story written that was never published with the same title. We will never get to see that story. Maybe some day it will get slipped into a fanfiction sight under a different name, but this is not that time and this is not that story. This is my version of what might have happened. The idea started in my head as just a fun story with a chance to play with some characters and write some action scenes, but the plot grew a little more complex, and I expect this to be novel-length when it is done.  
  
The time frame of this story is also different from my other stories. This story takes place in the time span between Siege of Darkness and Passage to Dawn (yes, I know that is the same time span the real Shores of Dusk was supposed to take place in, sue me). Drizzt is on the Sea Sprite with Catti- Brie, Wulfgar is dead, and Entreri is at large. If you haven't read any books after Siege of Darkness, this will spoil nothing for you.  
  
Okay, enough intro. 


	2. Invitations

The Shores of Dusk  
by David Pontier  
  
Chapter 1  
Invitations  
  
Fredrick Hemmington snapped the reigns again, and the horses picked up the pace. They were just about to the top of the hill, and the castle was fully in view. The horses were either shying away from the stone monster ahead of them or the cart they pulled was getting too heavy. Fredrick was willing to bet it was a combination of both.  
The path leveled off as they ascended the last incline, and Fredrick took time to examine the castle. It did look like a monster too, with half crumpled spires climbing into the sky like teeth or talons. The base of the castle was not vast, but intimidating none-the-less. Each block of granite that formed its main wall looked gigantic and forced Fredrick to look back down the hill to appreciate how far each of the blocks must have been carried. The McKeeners had not wanted any unwanted guests.  
Of course since the castle had been built so well to keep things out, it had also proven to be exceptionally good at keeping things in. The plague had struck the castle over two centuries ago, and had taken every life that did not flee and many of those that did. When the surrounding towns saw the blistered refugees seeking help, their faces horribly contorted by the sickness, mages were called on to repel them. Once the bodies were identified and the mages confidant that they could counter the plague, a troupe had gone up to the castle to see what they could do.  
All they found were bodies. The mages spent weeks ridding the castle of the evil aura that seemed to permeate from the thick walls, and even after they had declared it clean, no sane citizen would dare step foot in it. "It is perfectly safe," the head mage had declared, hoping to lure a prominent family into the well-defended fort and maybe garnering some compensation for making it available.  
"If it is so safe, then you live there," was the usual response. So they did.  
It was no longer called the McKeener stronghold, but the Mount Mckeener Magic Market. Fredrick led his horse to the stable where dozens of other carts were parked, their owners inside shopping. "It's huge," came a small voice beside him. Fredrick looked to see his son Alex gaping up in awe at the castle. The youngest member of the Hemmington family had slept through most of the trip, which was fine, for there wasn't much to see, but when the steady rhythm of the cart stopped, he awoke with a start.  
Fredrick tossed a coin to one of the stable boys to make sure his horses got water and hay and then helped his son from the cart. "Now, remember," he said sternly, "I said you could come along as long as you don't touch anything. There are a lot of tricks and games in here, and I don't want any son of mine to be fooled by them."  
Alex stood up a little taller at the charge, full of the Hemmington pride that his father always talked about. He wouldn't be fooled. He wouldn't touch anything. He would just watch. That resolve lasted about 20 seconds.  
At the entry to the market, where the main portcullis once barred entrance, a magician was playing with fire. He swallowed it, blew it out of his mouth, snapped small flames to life on his fingers and even made a few fireworks that looked like butterflies. Alex left his father's side and ran right up to the entertainer, completely entranced.  
Fredrick quickened his pace after his son. The magician noticed Alex's attention and bent to pick up a small twig from the ground. With the young boy watching intently, the magician slowly pulled the twig through a clenched fist as if he were trying to wring water from it. Then, he snapped his fingers on the end of the twig, and a small flame came to life.  
He bent down to hand it to Alex. "I'm sorry," Fredrick said, walking up to them quickly, "but we aren't looking to buy anything from you. If you would leave my boy-"  
"Nonsense," the magician said with a haughty tone. "I ask you for no money. I simply wish to give the boy a gift to lighten his face."  
Fredrick looked at his son and saw him holding the flame up as if it were magical. It looked like it was just a twig on fire, and he was about to say as much when the magician spoke up again. "That twig will never burn up. The flame will continue until it is extinguished, but the wood will never be consumed."  
Fredrick looked closely at the twig and saw that beneath the flame the wood did not seem to be charred in the least. "I have a large wood pile back home, if you're not too busy," Fredrick said.  
"And I thought you weren't interested in buying anything from me." The magician's tone dripped with superiority.  
Fredrick growled at how easily he had been drawn in. He had just lectured his son about not getting caught in any traps or games and here he was, taken by a simple parlor trick. "Give the twig back to him," he said firmly to his son.  
Though Alex did not wish to give up his burning twig, he had learned long ago not to defy his father when he assumed the tone he now used. He handed the tiny torch back to the magician. The man took it, and with another snap of his fingers the entire twig burst into flames and was incinerated within a second, leaving nothing but a poof of ash. "Ah pity," he said and turned to the next visitors.  
Fredrick pulled his son into the main courtyard of the castle, and whatever remorse Alex felt about losing his twig disappeared in seconds once he saw the shops inside. The chambers that surrounded the courtyard were full of magical shops selling everything from potions to poisons. In front of each shop was a magical display much like the one they had just seen. Jugglers worked five balls into the air at once and then suddenly stopped using their hands, the balls continuing the cycle on their own. Metal workers bent iron without the use of a hammer or anvil and then invited onlookers to try. Talking birds told people stories, dough cooked itself into bread, and gold coins flowed from what looked like an empty bucket.  
Many people came with no intention of buying anything at all and just wanted a show, but they invariable ended up leaving with something. Love potions and good luck trinkets were the easiest to move, but there were also more powerful and valuable things to be bought.  
Along with pranksters and con artists, trying to make quick fortunes, there were also serious vendors at this market. They were on the upper level, off the balcony that ringed the courtyard. They had no ground in front of their shops to advertise so they needed to count on the genuine nature of their products. Fredrick allowed his son a few moments to take in the sights of the courtyard and then led him up to the balcony.  
They passed a few shops that were of no interest and stopped in front of the shop Fredrick was there for: Garem's Golems. At Mount Mckeener Magic Market, alliteration was the law of the land.  
In the reception area stood a few samples of Garem's work. Tall brass and iron behemoths stood as if on guard, and Fredrick got suddenly nervous. If he did something wrong, he felt they would come to life and tear him apart. Alex too was frightened and did not need his father's warning to know he shouldn't touch anything.  
"Do you have an appointment?"  
The voice belonged to a young boy, maybe 15 or 16, at least five years older than Alex. Fredrick turned to face him and remembered the lad from the other day in town when he had set up the meeting. The boy too recognized him. "Earl Hemmington, is it not?" Fredrick nodded. "Yes, Garem is expecting you."  
The boy visited the local towns and met with anyone interested in his employer's wares. Garem was a busy man and it was not usually possible to meet with him without an appointment. The boy led Fredrick and Alex down a small corridor and into a cozy office that had a view out the back of the castle and down the mountain.  
"Earl Hemmington," Garem, a portly bearded man rose from behind his desk and extended his hand, "it is good to meet you. How may I be of service?"  
Fredrick took the hand and a seat, happy this mage didn't dress himself up with the robes and frills that his associates downstairs preferred. He looked more like a blacksmith, and thinking back to what he did, that made sense.  
"I wish to purchase a golem, of course."  
"Of course," Garem echoed with a laugh, "but there are many kinds."  
"I am not well-versed in these matters," Fredrick admitted.  
"Few are. Let's start with what you would like it to do."  
Fredrick nodded. He had heard many good things about this man and trusted not to be cheated. Garem really couldn't afford to be dishonest. It was only the wealthy who could afford his services, and if he cheated someone of nobility, not only would they seek revenge, but his reputation would be ruined over night.  
"My son," he took a quick glance down at Alex and clarified, "my oldest son, is starting to make quite a name for himself at some of the local tournaments. He's won jousting matches and sword contests in more cities than I can count and is amassing quite a trophy collection. As well, my wife seems to fancy more and more jewelry as the years go buy and has also gathered herself quite a collection. Myself, I have done well in horse-trading and my coffers seem to be ever bursting no matter how much I give to charity. Right now my wealth is spread throughout my estate, and I fear I will soon be the target of thieves if I don't consolidate and protect it."  
Garem nodded as if he had heard it a thousand times before, and for good reason. "How serious is the threat?" Fredrick looked confused. "I mean is there high crime in your area? You live just outside Gilfrim, if I'm not mistaken. Has the thieving guild there turned its eyes toward you?"  
Fredrick shook his head. "I don't know. I just thought it would be prudent."  
"So you probably aren't shopping that aggressively, fair enough. Do you actually want it to fight?"  
Fredrick looked confused. "Isn't that what golems do? They destroy anything that violates their treasure, right?"  
"In theory," Garem agreed, "but if you are a thief and you know what a golem can do and you see one guarding a chest, are you still going to try and open that chest?"  
"Probably not," Fredrick agreed.  
"The golems you saw as you walked in are not enchanted. They will not come to life no matter what you did to them, but I bet your son didn't touch them, did he?"  
Fredrick didn't need to answer that rhetorical question. "So what risks do I run in getting a 'fake' golem."  
"Well," Garem started, "if your thief is accompanied by a wizard or has a protection spell cast on him that he knows how to read, they will be able to sense that there is no danger coming from the golem. Or if he has any elven blood in him or is possession of any number of charms used to disarm traps, they might be able to sense it. This is why I asked what level of thief you are protecting from. The lower class thief won't have any of this. And the really low class might not recognize a golem and might just think it is a neat statue and continue with the theft."  
"I think I better go with the real thing," Fredrick decided.  
"Fair enough. I'm just trying to save you some coin. Of course I make a wide variety of golems. For what you are talking about I'm guessing- "  
Garem was cut off by his servant in the hall. "You can't go in there sir, Garem is busy with a client. You need to make an appointment. You can't just-" The sickening crack of metal on bone ended the boys rant, and soon after, the door opened.  
Garem stood suddenly to continue the admonishment where his servant had been cut off, but his voice was caught in his throat. The man stood tall in the doorway, closer to six and a half feet than six. He was dressed in a black robe covering chainmail that looked like it had been dipped in ink, glistening as if it were still wet. His hood was thrown back revealing a hawkish face with black eyes and topped with the whitest hair Garem had ever seen. The man looked like he was only 25 years old and 100 at the same time.  
He wore a huge sword on his hip, the pommel of which was clearly visible under his cloak as he turned to look at the Hemmingtons. "You were just leaving." His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it seemed to fill the whole room.  
Fredrick Hemmington was a noble, an Earl of some regard, and did not threaten easily, but he gathered his son and left the room as if the plague had returned to the castle. And as he closed the door behind him, leaving Garem alone with the black visitor, the merchant wasn't so sure it hadn't.  
"I require a golem."  
"Uh, well," Garem cleared his throat and tried to act as if nothing was amiss, "you've come to the right place. Please, have a seat." He motioned to one of the chairs just recently vacated.  
The man in black did not move to take a seat, but instead unsheathed his sword and propped it on the floor in front of him. It was long enough that as his palms rested on the pommel, the tip of the sword on the floor, his hands were halfway up his chest. Garem took notice of the blade. It was deeply serrated on either side, looking like a bunch of arrowheads stacked on top of each other. It looked deadly enough, but Garem didn't see how the blade could be removed from a victim once they were skewered with it. He hoped he never found out.  
"I have many types of golems, perhaps you could tell me what you need it for and-"  
"I require a flesh golem."  
"A flesh golem?" Garem was not happy. Not only was it the weakest type of golem he made, but he hated dealing with enchanted flesh. "Are you sure? I mean I have this adamantium supplier that is trying to unload on me right now. I can make you a great deal-"  
The man in black leaned forward, putting more weight on his sword. He hardly moved more than three inches, but suddenly Garem felt as if their faces were just about touching. "I require a flesh golem," he said again, in the same harsh whisper. "You are to make it look as human as possible. Seven feet tall. No more than 350 pounds. All of it solid muscle."  
"Looking for a body guard?" Garem chuckled, the joke being that it didn't appear this man needed to be guarded from anything.  
"I require it for a tournament."  
"A fighting tournament?" Garem asked. "Cause, my golems aren't much in the way of fighting. I mean they're indestructible and they like to 'Crush, crush, kill, kill' but if your looking for a real fighter, they don't have minds to learn moves and maneuvers. Are you sure-"  
The man leaned closer still and Garem shut up. "You talk too much. Can you give me what I require?"  
"Like I said, I can't program it to do much more than swing its arms."  
"I can."  
"Oh, really," Garem was half-intrigued and half-relieved. He hoped this stranger wouldn't ask him to do the impossible, but at the same time, if this man in black knew how to make a golem actually fight with weapons and technique, Garem might be able to learn something.  
"How long do you need?"  
"One, no, two weeks. I can have it for you in two weeks."  
"I will return in three. I better not be disappointed." With that he turned to leave.  
"Wait," Garem called. "What shall I call you?"  
The man paused, wondering if he should really answer the question for Garem would surely never confuse him with anyone else. "You may call me Styne." With that, the man left the room and closed the door behind him.  
  
* * *  
  
Two guards stood at the gate to Silverymoon, watching the approaching troupe with interest. There looked to be six members of the party, and as they drew closer, their identities became clear.  
The most prominent was the knight. He sat atop his tremendous horse like a living statue, tall and regal. His full plate glistened in the sun, calling attention to himself as if he were a lighthouse on a cliff. Beside and slightly behind him rode a second traveler, much smaller and dressed colorful gowns and sitting sidesaddle. Compared to the size of the knight, the woman seemed almost a child, and since the two guards were familiar with most paladins' marriage customs, they assumed she probably was.  
Walking on the right of the horses were two more members of the group. The taller of the two, was dressed in a baggy shirt and taunt pants. It also appeared he was playing a lute. As they got closer, the twanging of the instrument, and the jovial sound of the bard's song identified him clear enough. The other, a squire to be sure, was carrying a banner. On this calm afternoon, the standard hung limp from the pole, but from the colors, the guards guessed it belonged to the Order of the Thunder Blade.  
Without that guess, it would have been nearly impossible for the guards to know what the other two squires were doing. It appeared they were carrying a large pole, akin to what hunters might use to bring in a wild boar after a successful hunt. This pole seemed to be large enough to carry a grizzly, but it was bare. Even after a stray breeze finally picked up the banner, and let the guards know they had guessed right, they still couldn't believe that the behemoth pike the two lads carried over their shoulders was a sword.  
When the troupe was still 50 yards from the gate, the knight held up his hand and they all stopped. He dismounted, and relieved the two squires of their burden. The guards gawked. Once attached to his back, even at an angle, the pommel of the sword stuck up above his head while the tip just barely hung above the ground. This would naturally be impressive on anyone, but this knight stood easily six and a half feet.  
The two guards stood at attention as the group walked the rest of the way, save the young women whose horse was led on by one of the two squires that was no longer carrying the sword. It was traditional for the bard, or maybe one of the squires to announce a prominent knight's arrival at the city gates, but the knight himself was the one who approached and spoke.  
"I am Sir Toreance Willhiem," he said, drawing his sword as he spoke. He pulled it over his shoulder, and the scabbard rotated so the blade was drawn parallel to the ground. This was a necessary feature, for no man alive had an arm long enough to pull the blade straight up. "I come from the south on a mission of great importance. I am here to see Lady Alustriel and I wish to . . ."  
He went on about what he wanted, and why he was so important that he should receive an audience without having arranged one in advance. The guards were barely listening. Their eyes were glued to the sword, the Thunder Blade. The blade was six feet if it was an inch, and too wide for most men to curl their fingers around. It had to weigh over a hundred pounds, but the casual way the paladin held it aloft, made it look no heavier than a rapier. Most blades were balanced with equal weight above and below the crosspiece so that they would swing about their center of mass. This was impossible with this blade, but looking at the massive pommel, it was obvious the makers of the blade had tried.  
When Sir Toreance Willhiem had finished his litany, one of the guards called for a runner from within the guard house on the other side of the gate, and soon the knight's procession was making its way through the main streets of Silverymoon. The group drew quite a crowd of onlookers as they walked, Toreance with his blade held high, and the banner-carrying-squire waving his flag back and forth to make up for the lack of wind. The bard was in full song about how many foes Sir Toreance Willhiem had slain and would slay in the future.  
Carrying an unsheathed weapon, especially one the size of the Thunder Blade, was against city ordinance, but no one had the gall to tell Toreance to put it away. No one, that is, until they reached the central palace. Lady Alustriel was waiting for them at the gate. "Put that tree chopper away."  
Toreance grunted a bit at the remark. "This is the magnificent Thunder Blade. It has slain hundreds, nay, thousands. Why just on the long trek to this city, I killed a score of orcs and two dozen trolls. It is not for chopping trees."  
Lady Alustriel did not smile. And she was not nearly as impressed as the onlookers at the casual way he held the massive sword. She knew of the Order of the Thunder Blade, and perhaps the only thing they were better at than fashioning their famous sword, was fashioning the magic gauntlets this knight wore. It looked like Toreance moved it about as if it were a rapier, but Alustriel doubted it even weighed that much. A child could lift it if he had the gloves.  
"Put it away," she said calmly.  
Toreance grunted again, but sheathed his sword. Alustriel had a good guess why he was here, and she didn't like it. She didn't like the Order of the Thunder Blade as a whole, for starters. No one could deny the benefit of having a war hungry group of paladins living in the wilderness laying waste to the goblin and giant kind in the area, and they were very good at what they did. But a normal order of paladins would pursue a group of goblins that had attacked a town, kill the creatures, and then return to the town to help heal and rebuild. They would empty their coffers in an act of charity to help the damaged town and would not leave until they knew the townspeople were safe again. The Order of the Thunder Blade had the killing part down, but they left out the rest.  
Toreance had mentioned killing trolls on his way up to the city. Alustriel knew the path they should have taken, and the trollmoors were a good day out of the way. The fact that he had taken his troupe, consisting of three boys, a girl, and a defenseless bard, to the edge of the trollmoors, just so he could have some sport, showed what kind of reckless attitude the Order of the Thunder Blade encouraged.  
"I am here for the tournament," Toreance said, confirming Alustriel's guess. "May we go in and speak?"  
Alustriel motioned the way toward her palace, hiding a smile at the stumbling gate of the paladin. With the sword out of his magic gloves and on his back, Toreance was feeling the full weight. He hadn't just carried it unsheathed through town for show, though that was definitely part of it, but it really was too heavy for anyone to manage without the gloves.  
Toreance was the only one that entered the palace. The rest of his group tended to the horses and went about setting up lodging for the duration of their stay. Alustriel was not fond of the knight, but she would make sure that his troupe was taken care of. They would wait for his return, but unless Alustriel was greatly mistaken, Toreance would not be coming back, and she would make sure they had an escort back to the order.  
"It seems odd that you would come all the way up here on such a task," Alustriel asked once they were both seated and waited upon. Toreance had the sword propped up against the wall. "I mean your priests should have been able to handle the transportation spell easily enough."  
"I, uh, we," Toreance stuttered. The most honest shortcoming of the Order of the Thunder Blade is that they did not have any affiliation with any deity, and such union was necessary for entrance into the tournament. "Our priests are too busy healing our wounded and preparing spells for battle to deal with, uh . . ." Toreance was about to insult the type of magic required, but that would in turn insult Alustriel, and he held his tongue.  
"Of course," Alustriel said, taking some small pleasure in his discomfort. The humor didn't last long, though, for there was a definite shadow hanging over this meeting. It was the shadow of death. She thought about denying this knight access to the tournament, for she felt it would be a death sentence, but he did look like an incredible fighter. He was as big and strong as a barbarian though almost assuredly trained in the classic sword style instead of the hack and slash ways of most barbarian tribes. Images of Wulfgar came to mind. Alustriel's face fell at the thought of the deceased fighter. Though even if he was still alive and wielding his fabulous hammer, it would not compare with the weapon of this knight. If Alustriel was going to send anyone, Toreance was probably the best choice.  
If she denied him passage, he would throw a fit, going on about pride, honor, and what he was entitled to. The tournament was held every 250 years, and the Order of the Thunder Blade had sent a representative to the past three. None of those knights had returned, and new blades had to be fashioned, but Alustriel doubted that knowledge would in any way restrain Toreance's eagerness.  
She was then left with the task of finding a higher being to sponsor him, which shouldn't be too hard. There were several neutral, war-loving deities that would grant this knight sponsorship. As Alustriel explained what would be required of Toreance, she couldn't help but wonder who she would send if it was her choice. The only name that came to mind was a thousand miles away, sailing the sword coast. Toreance would have to do.  
  
* * *  
  
Karl and Jack walked into the tavern, looking curiously around at the assortment of patrons. From the little they had seen since entering this town, the people inside looked like a collection of what they had already seen walking the street. It didn't look like the chosen one was here.  
There was a group of four young people sitting around a table in the middle of the room. The two young boys were trying to convince the two girls of something, and the girls obviously found it humorous. There was an old fighter by the side wall, drinking his ale and thinking he might get called into action at any time, for he wore rusted armor and had a sword close by. There was a cloaked stranger in the corner, sipping a drink and wishing for nothing but to be ignored. There was a group of ruffians on the other side of the room, looking like they might start a fight at any moment. There were middle age men playing cards and sipping drinks. And there were two widows eyeing the men from across the room.  
None of the patrons caught the attention of the two men who had just entered so they kept walking to the bar. Karl and Jack were monks, something that was rather obvious from their bald heads and brown robes. They were on a mission for their monastery to find the chosen one, but in the mean time, a little ale wouldn't hurt.  
They had been sitting at the bar for ten minutes and were now working on their second mugs when four men entered the tavern. The two monks turned to regard the new arrivals and thought they had reached the end of their search. At the head of the group walked a powerful man, just over six feet and muscled like a dwarf. An axe swung casually from his waist as he moved fluidly over the floor to the bar. His three friends walked behind him, letting everyone know who was in charge of the group. His name was Darien, and he was a well-known mercenary in these parts. He sat at the bar right next to Jack without saying a word.  
Jack and Karl exchanged glances. "See if he has the mark," Karl insisted.  
Jack nodded and turned back to Darien. With the innocence and naiveté that comes from growing up in a monastery, Jack reached out and casually brushed the big man's long brown hair away from the side of his face.  
"What the hell," Darien said, turning suddenly, batting Jack's hand away and standing up. Instantly his three friends fanned out, surrounding the monks. "What are you about?"  
"Pardon me sir," Jack said, not realizing his dire situation. "I just wish to look at your ear."  
"My ear?" the man asked incredulously. He was going to beat these two men into respecting him, but he had never started a fight over his ears before. "What are you, a queer? Hey everyone," he said to the rest of the tavern, all of which were riveted on this confrontation, "it looks like we have a couple of queer monks here?"  
Darien turned his attention back to Jack. "I don't like queer monks." His hand snaked out and grabbed Jack by the throat. "You know what I do with queer monks?" Karl realized for the first time they were in trouble, but as he rose from his bench, he found two of Darien's friends standing behind him. He turned back to look at Jack still with his neck in a chokehold.  
"I'll show you what I do with queer monks."  
"Please, not in front of everyone."  
The voice came from Darien's left, away from the bar. "Stay out of this," he said, but as he did, it registered that there was something different about the speaker's voice. He turned to look and saw the cloaked stranger from the corner standing there, the hood down revealing long blonde hair.  
The woman smiled at his shocked expression. "If you want to get intimately physical with this man, that's your own prerogative," she said, "but, please, not in front of everyone."  
"Oh, I'm going to get physical with him," he growled, "and everyone is going to watch." Laughter from the other members of the tavern brought the slow-witted man to his senses, and he realized both what this woman had said and then what he had.  
Darien released the monk and turned on the woman. "What did you say?"  
"I said if you want get intimate with him, that's your business, but don't do it here."  
"Why you," he growled, coming on hard. Despite his anger, he was a little restrained because she was a woman. She solved that problem by striking first. The stiffened fingers of her right hand shot out faster than a viper's strike, catching the man just under the adam's apple. He gagged and stumbled back, grabbing at his throat trying to breathe.  
His henchmen stood two to one side of her and one to the other. Before the closest man on her left could formulate an attack. Her left elbow came up hard and fast, right into his nose. The crunch was sickening, and the woman dropped low, sweeping the injured man's legs out from under him as the man on her right swung over her head.  
This next would-be attacker was off-balanced from his miss, and the woman stood fast, bringing the palm of her right hand up hard under the man's chin. His feet actually left the floor as he flew backwards, out cold before he hit the floor.  
The woman turned to the remaining henchmen and saw he had his sword out. "You're going to need more than just your hands to get me," he sneered.  
"If you insist," she complied. Her hand disappeared into the vest under her cloak and pulled out a foot long sliver shaft, not more than an inch and a half in diameter.  
"That's not going to . . ." he started, but stopped as with a twist of the woman's wrist, the shaft telescoped out to a six-foot pike. "How . . ." was all he got out as she spun it into a sliver disk, slapping his sword out wide, and then hitting him twice on either side of his head so fast it felt like the blows had happened at once.  
He felt suddenly dizzy, and his stance went wide to keep his balance. That was a mistake. The pike swung up hard between his legs, and then reversed its direction, conking him on the forehead. His eyes rolled up into his head, and before he measured himself on the floor, the woman had the pike retracted and stored back in her vest.  
"And you," she turned back to Darien. He was still gasping for air and wanted nothing to do with this woman. "You should pick on something with your own intelligence." She grabbed his vest, hoisting him away from the bar with strength that denied her gender, and pushed him away from her. He stumbled once, and she landed a kick between his shoulder blades that launched him into a support column in the middle of the tavern.  
No one was sure if the loud crack that came next was from the man's head or the column. As if to answer the question, Darien went down hard, but the wooden post stayed standing. The woman looked down at the unconscious man and then at the column. "That's better."  
She turned to the two monks. "Now you two, I hope you've learned your lesson."  
To answer her question, Jack foolishly reached up to brush her hair back from the side of her face. His hand never got close. She knocked it away with her left, and for the second time in as many minutes her right hand shot out for a throat. She didn't attack this time, put grabbed hold instead.  
"What in the world is your problem?"  
Jack had just recently been in a neck hold, but this one was completely different. It did not have the strength of Darien's hold, but it knew what it was doing. He could feel pressure on nerves he didn't even know he had. If this woman twisted her grip at all, Jack knew he would black out. "Your ears," he managed to croak somehow.  
The woman kept her grip and turned to Karl. "What is your friend's obsession with ears?"  
"Please forgive Brother Jack, he means no harm. We were sent to find someone, and we would know them by the mark of their ears. Our monastery is in search of a great warrior, and your display just now made Jack think that you might be that warrior, but you couldn't."  
The woman released Jack and used her other hand to tuck a portion of her hair behind her left ear - a pointed ear. "The mark!" Karl cried. The woman quickly recovered her ear. "But it can't be. I mean, a woman?"  
"Would you like me to give you another demonstration," she said curtly. "My name is Druianalla. I helped you here because monks once befriended me. If your monastery is in need of assistance, I will help as I can."  
"We do not need help," Jack said, his voice still scratchy. "We are in search of you because our god has laid it upon us."  
"What for?" Druia asked.  
"To send you to a tournament." 


	3. Persuasions

Chapter 2  
Persuasions  
  
The three mages put the finishing touches on their magic circle and stood back to examine it. It looked crude, lying on the rocky soil of the small clearing, the fire in the center the only light on this starless night. Mages did not as a rule like being outdoors and preferred their studies and meticulously prepared summoning chambers for this kind of work, but they were hundreds of miles away from their homes back in Calimshan, and this would have to do.  
They were tired, but as they had been instructed, they had to give updates as to the progress of their quest. Traveling through the rocky foothills of the Sharp Tooth Mountains, Amn's largest mountain range, a good 150 miles east of Baldur's Gate, the mages were very much out of their element.  
Cailin was the leader of the group by seniority, and he had picked the spot to perform the summoning. The other two followed orders, but their grumbling was becoming more audible each day. They traveled through a dangerous land, filled with goblins, orcs, and less sentient though just as dangerous predators. Their spell repertoire was focussed on offensive battle spells, and after a long day of casting, performing this powerful summoning, which required a completely different mental aptitude, was draining.  
The meditation required to prepare their spells was usually performed in the comfort of their studies, but out here on the rough road, riding horses and sleeping in tents, they were not at their best, and several of their spells had misfired in the past few days. They knew if they did not complete their quest soon, they would not survive much longer.  
It was with this sense of urgency that Cailin finished his inspection of the circle, and led his partners in the summoning spell. The other two mages tried to throw aside their fatigue and concentrate on the task at hand. Such was their fatigue, that when they had stopped at this level clearing, they had neglected to scout the perimeter and set up the traps they normally put in place when they stopped.  
Even if they had, it wouldn't have made a difference. They would have died anyway.  
A cloaked figure skirted the rim of rocks that rose in elevation around the clearing, watching the three mages carefully. In the center of their circle, the fire they had set seemed to roar with heat, and the flames shot up high into the air. What ever they were doing, it was not going to be pleasant.  
This man had noticed these three about four days ago. He had watched his trail carefully, wondering if they were following him, or just passing through along the same path as he. Today, he had scouted them more carefully, taking notice of the way they rode their horses and handled their camp when they stopped. They had worn leather armor, and carried swords, but it didn't take an experienced adventurer to see that they were not very comfortable in them.  
The clothes they wore marked them as Calimshites, a land far away. Even a novice rider should have settled into a rhythm with his mount after such a journey, but these men seemed to struggle with their horses every step of the way. And now, with the three decked out in their robes, chanting around a fiery summoning circle, it was obvious they were not just passing through this land. They had a purpose. Now what was it?  
The dark figure crept close enough to hear the chanting of the mages, hoping to get some clue as to what they were about. He did not understand the language they spoke, but his ears picked up at one phrase.  
". . . eckrost chrum korle Raichik chorlk grad Artemis Entreri yolker crastif . . ."  
What ever they were saying, Entreri was pretty sure it was about him, and he knew now that he was being followed. He hesitated as he decided what he should do next. The mages had been sent after him for a reason, and it was most likely hostile in nature, for he had plenty of enemies back in Calimshan, but it might not be.  
Entreri hadn't had much purpose in life over the past few years since his departure from Drizzt after their adventures in the underdark. He had been able to quell his desire to go back after the dark elf, trying to put his pride aside for a while. The truth of it was, resolving his conflict with Drizzt was the only passion in his life, and by rejecting it, he had nothing left to do but wander from town to town, trying to find another purpose.  
This might be such a purpose. If these mages were after him for some other reason than a bounty, it might give him the excitement he had been missing for the past few years. Entreri watched the spell with interest now, wondering where this adventure might take him. That curiosity didn't last long.  
As what had been just a small campfire exploded into a monstrous cloud of flame, filling the 20-foot summoning circle and a feral growl came from the center, Entreri decided he'd rather not find out what these mages wanted.  
Cailin was full into the spell now, and as it neared completion, he looked at the faces of his companions. The fire and energy that coursed through the circle before them lit up each face as the spell reached its climax. Cailin's smile vanished as one of the mages suddenly cried out, his face now a picture of pain and confusion. A dagger was sticking out of his neck.  
The remaining two mages, turned about suddenly, trying to locate the source of the attack, but after staring into the fire with their eyes wide, the night was an inky blackness. Entreri recognized Cailin as the leader and cocked his arm for another throw, but as a shimmering field covered the mage, Entreri altered his throw at the last second. The dagger flew true and sunk into the chest of the other mage, who had not been quick enough to erect his protections. He clutched the handle of the dagger and then fell back into the fire.  
Entreri ran from his previous position, knowing the throw could be tracked backwards. Sure enough, Cailin sent a bolt of lighting through the vacated area. Entreri needed a way to break through the mage's protection and picked up some rocks to throw, but before he did, he heard the mage cast another spell. Now Cailin's eyes glowed blue. A vision spell!  
Entreri dropped his rocks and leaped away as another bolt exploded into the rocks around him. This last bolt seemed a bit weaker, and Entreri could see the strain on the mage's face. "Had a rough day?" Entreri called, and then quickly moved. The mage did not fall for the ruse, knowing his prey only called out to him to get him to waste his spells - spells of which he had precious few left.  
"These mountains aren't very forgiving." Entreri called again, risking a longer phrase while remaining in one place. He was hidden behind rocks, and the assassin guessed this mage was only going to shoot at something he could see. Entreri obliged.  
"Especially on one such as yourself." He jumped down right into the camp, not 15 feet from the mage. Cailin fired without thinking, but Entreri was already on the move. It was a fireball this time, and it exploded into what had been behind the assassin: all of the mages' supplies.  
When Cailin saw this, he cursed and lost his concentration. Entreri took advantage of the situation and was beside him in a second, his dirk flashing out in the firelight. The tip hit hard against the stoneskin, but Cailin didn't have the concentration to maintain it, and the blade slipped through, cutting to the heart.  
Entreri held him up for a moment, looking the man in the face. Cailin looked back and recognition flashed in his eyes. "No," he gasped, "we were . . . not . . ." but he was dead.  
Entreri dropped him to the ground and stared at him for a moment, wondering if he had acted in error. "You were not what?" he asked aloud.  
"They were not sent to kill you," a booming voice answered from less than three feet away.  
Entreri leaped back both blades up in a defensive posture. He looked into the fire, something he had purposefully avoided during the fight to save his vision. He did not like what he saw. A huge beast, engulfed in flame with a canine head, horns, and wings stared back at him. If Entreri was right, and he hoped he was not, he was looking at a balor. It was time to run.  
"Stop!"  
Entreri froze before he even took a step. Was he under a spell? With the mages dead, was the demon free? Entreri relaxed a bit as he untensed his muscles. He could move. He was not under a spell. He was also alive, something that wouldn't be true if the balor wanted him dead. He turned to face him.  
"I am not here to kill you either," the balor continued after he saw that he had Entreri's attention. The creature looked at the dead mages surrounding the circle and grunted, "though I probably should."  
He looked back up at Entreri. "My name is Raichik. I sent these mages out to find you, and I see they were successful, though not in the fashion I had envisioned. I wish to sponsor you in a tournament."  
Entreri's ears picked up at this, but he held his questions in check for now.  
"It is a tournament for fighters. To the winner goes eternal life. Are you interested?"  
"I do not serve anyone or anything," Entreri said evenly. "If you wish to make me your servant, it will not happen."  
"I stand to gain from this as well, and when it is over, I promise to leave you on your way. We shall never meet again."  
"What do you gain?"  
"Entrance to the tournament is not possible without the assistance of a higher being. Mortals like yourself can not attend without our help. The winner gets eternal life, and the being who sponsored him gets to walk the material plane."  
Entreri understood now. This demon probably could escape the circle with the mages dead under normal circumstances, but he had been banished from this plane and was thus confined to the circle. Entreri started to think about this offer, but Raichik interrupted him. "I will have your answer now."  
"I am not interested," he replied.  
"You can not refuse me!" Raichik screamed.  
Entreri walked right up to the circle. Had he and the demon been the same height, their faces would have been no more than two feet apart. "I do not jump through hoops for someone's entertainment. I know how good I am, that is all that is important."  
Raichik changed his mood suddenly. "You are right. The talk of the planes is that you wouldn't have won anyway and that I was wasting my time." Entreri laughed at the demon's pathetic attempt to goad him into fighting. "The drow is going to win anyway."  
Entreri had started to walk away, but he stopped. His laughter ended also. "What drow?"  
"How am I supposed to know which drow! All of Lloth's pets look the same to me. This one is supposedly the greatest fighter to have ever lived, or something like that. You are probably wise not to go. Though, at your age, immortality must be temp-"  
"Which drow?" Entreri asked again.  
"I told you I don't remember the deserter's name."  
"Deserter?"  
"Yes," Raichik said. "Supposedly he has forsaken the ways of his people and gone to seek his fame and fortune on the surface."  
"Drizzt Do'Urden."  
"Yes," Raichik replied, pretending to have his memory jogged. He knew exactly who Drizzt was, knew of his relation to Entreri, and seriously doubted the drow would be at the tournament. "He must really be the greatest fighter if you have heard of him."  
Entreri ignored the comment, looking at this tournament in a new light. "What is this you said about immortality?"  
"Upon winning, the tournament's champion will not age another day. He will still be susceptible to a death through violence, but he will never become ill or aged and any wound he sustains will heal at an accelerated rate."  
"How would I get to this tournament?"  
"These mages were going to arrange for your transportation. Now we have to find another means." Raichik explained where Entreri could find another of the balor's servants and that the assassin should hurry, for the start of the tournament was only a few days away.  
Entreri still hadn't said whether he was in or not, but his curiosity had been peeked by not only the chance to fight Drizzt again but by the potential reward. He was not yet 40, but neither was he still 30. One of the reasons he had been without purpose for the past few years was that he knew whatever he might be able to achieve, he would only have a few good years left to appreciate it.  
"And one thing more," Raichik added when Entreri prepared to leave, apparently accepting the balor's offer, "close this damnable circle."  
Entreri tried not to laugh as he realized how helpless this powerful creature really was on the material plane. He had no power of his own and could only go at the will of the one who had summoned him. With them gone, he was stuck. Entreri saw a pail of water that had survived Cailin's fireball attack and fetched it.  
"No!!!" Raichik cried, but Entreri tossed the water onto the campfire that still burned at the feet of the balor. "Aaarrrrhhhhhgggg, Entreri, you will, ahhhh!!" but he disappeared in a puff of steam and smoke. With one of the components of the circle broken, the window into the abyssal plane from which Raichik was summoned was closed, and since his nature no longer allowed him to exist in the material plane, his banishment sent him back.  
Entreri guessed he could have achieved the same result by simply scattering some of the rocks that made up the circle, but this way had been more fun. He did not feel threatened by Raichik. The demon needed him to gain his freedom, and if that happened then Entreri would have something to worry about. Though if Raichik gained his freedom on this realm, ruled by goodly races, he would have too much to worry about to retain a grudge against the assassin.  
Right now Entreri didn't think about it. He had a tournament to prepare for. With a hop in his step from his newfound purpose, he made his way for the closest town were another mage awaited him.  
  
* * *  
  
The gentle rocking of the boat always had a calming effect on Drizzt, but tonight the Sea Sprite's motion did nothing to remove the uneasiness he felt. As an elf, a creature of magic, he had always been able to tell when supernatural powers were at work in the vicinity, and it was of no great surprise when a ghostly apparition appeared at the foot of his bed.  
Drizzt sat up slowly, not reaching for his weapons right away, more curious than anything. Robillard had the Sea Sprite protected against all means of transportation and summoning spells. That meant this creature was either so powerful that it paid no attention to such protections or that it meant no harm. In either case, Drizzt's weapons would not play a part in this confrontation.  
Also, the creature did not appear threatening. She appeared to be an elf, though even her gender was not obvious. With her radiant aura and pearly, opalescent eyes, to say nothing for her magical appearance, Drizzt knew she was not just an elf. She smiled.  
"Who are you?" Drizzt asked finally, after nearly a minute of silence between the two.  
Her smile broadened, and when she spoke, her gender was no longer in question. "A mighty warrior from an evil race, and yet your first reaction to my presence is one of curious innocence."  
Drizzt wasn't sure if this visitor had meant to say that observation out loud. And from the perfect quality of her voice, Drizzt wasn't so sure she had said it aloud at all, and he might be dreaming. "Would you prefer I strike you down?" Drizzt asked, deciding if this was a dream, he might as well play along.  
He received another broad smile. "And then the nervous humor."  
Drizzt was quickly disliking this situation. It felt as if this creature was examining him, his every response being judged. He also didn't like the notion that he was nervous, but as he sat up, he couldn't help but notice that his hands were shaking. Drizzt decided to remain quiet. He had asked two questions thus far without receiving an answer. The silence lasted two minutes.  
"And he has patience. Mielikki has chosen well."  
Drizzt sat up much straighter at this, and any nervous shaking disappeared. If this was a messenger from Mielikki, he would be wise to listen to what she said.  
"Many of us have followed your progress with great interest. Your life has not gone unnoticed, Drizzt Do'Urden, and I feel almost as if I am the one who should feel honored to be in your presence."  
"Is it your wish to flatter me?" Drizzt asked, the sarcastic comment passing his lips before he could check it. Though once it was out there, he was glad he had said it because it summed up his frustration with this strange encounter quite well.  
The visitor laughed. "Partly, yes. My name is Thelania. I am a ghaele, a servant of Mielikki. I am here to present you with a quest of sorts."  
"A quest sanctioned by Mielikki?" Drizzt asked, seeing little room for him to refuse.  
Thelania nodded. "It is a tournament for warriors like yourself."  
Drizzt's face fell. "A tournament? You wish for me to prove my skill against other fighters? For what? For pride?" Drizzt paused briefly. "I refuse."  
Thelania's smile turned into a smirk as she shook her head. "Kalindan was right. I shall owe him half a century of pulling weeds in his garden upon my return." She looked up to Drizzt. "Not so unpleasant a burden actually. Kalindan's gardens stretch out for . . ." she paused as she realized Drizzt would not comprehend the unit of celestial measurement she was about to use, "ever," she settled with. "Mortals who know of it will try their whole lives to get a glimpse of its beauty."  
Drizzt heard none of this. "Am I a pawn to you? Am I a bet? My life exists for your entertainment. This is not what Mooshie taught me. This is what my mother taught me."  
Thelania grew suddenly serious. "You are not a pawn, Drizzt Do'Urden. You are a knight, nay, a rook. Your importance in the grand scheme of this world is not yet evident to you."  
"I am just a drow."  
"And what is anyone else in your world?" Thelania asked. "Is Bruenor just a dwarf? Was Wulfgar but a barbarian? These mortals are no different than others of their kind, but they rose above them to become important leaders and have great influence over their people. Your influence is not yet so obvious, and luckily it has nothing to do with your people, but it will be no less profound."  
"What of this tournament?" Drizzt asked, not knowing what he should make of this visitor.  
"It has been a festering wound on your world for far too long. Deltrophan is a mage who has achieved what no mortal before him ever dreamed possible. He has surpassed simple knowledge of his craft and has achieved a unity with magic that is indefinable. Mages on your world crave knowledge like a peasant in the dessert craves water. Deltrophan has surpassed thirst and become on ocean. He has unlocked the key to immortality and is without rival.  
"He runs a school for mages to pass on what he has learned, though none of them have been able to achieve his level of proficiency, thank Mielikki. Once every 250 years, he holds a tournament for entertainment. I do not know if he has ever picked up a weapon in his life, and I imagine if he did he might accidentally cut off his own hand. He admires swordcraft like a blind man longs to see a sunset.  
"Access to his plane of existence is not possible without magical aid, and to insure he gets the best fighters for his tournament, he has circulated word of his tournament throughout the magical planes. To the winner goes eternal life, and to the higher being that sponsored him goes the ability to traverse the planes of existence without restriction.  
"The history of this tournament is filled with accounts of terrible demons gaining access to the physical realm, and bringing with them armies of horrid destruction. Page though a history book some time and you will notice that about every 250 years there is an account of a terrible battle in which thousands perished and cities burned before the demonic foe was defeated and banished back to the abyss. We have been waiting for a noble champion to end this cycle of destruction."  
"You wish for me to kill this mage?"  
Thelania laughed. "If it were that easy, do you not think we would have done that a long time ago. Celestial beings do not usually interfere with mortal lives, but we would have made an exception in this case if it were possible."  
"You mean to tell me this mage is beyond the power of the gods?" Drizzt wouldn't believe that.  
"Not beyond us," Thelania corrected, "merely out of our reach." She paused as she tried to think of an example. "Can the best dwarven smithy in all the realms melt and cast wood?"  
Drizzt scoffed at the absurdity of the comment, but then thought about it a while.  
Thelania elaborated on her example. "His furnace can melt the hardest mithril and his hammer and anvil can pound the most stubborn metal into the finest edge, but he can not work wood. I'm not talking about carving; I'm talking about working it into a shape with heat and pressure. Wood is weak. It rots and decays and is the food for insects, yet under no conditions can a smith get it to melt. It is not in its nature."  
Drizzt nodded slowly, realizing there were many things about the magical planes that he did not understand. "If you don't wish me to kill him, then what?"  
Thelania laughed at him. "We wish for you to win the tournament."  
Drizzt's face fell again. He would walk into the abyss to fight demons if his goddess demanded it. He would return to the underdark to fight against his people. But to enter a tournament to fight for the sake of fighting . . . "And if I refuse to go?"  
"Then I will be responsible for fertilizing Kalindan's garden as well as pulling the weeds. Not an enviable task." Thelania grew serious again. "And if you do not go, then someone else will win and the resulting chaos on your world will result in thousands of deaths."  
"I have long ago absolved myself of guilt regarding those I can not save." Drizzt had fought for many years with the death of Wulfgar. Was there something he could have done? Was there a choice he could have made differently? This mage was evil, and he would bring destruction to this world, but Drizzt could not be responsible for that.  
"What are you doing now?" Thelania asked him. "What have you been doing for the past three years?" Drizzt didn't understand. "You have been hunting pirates. Have they done something to you? Have they kidnapped or hurt one of your friends? No. You hunt and often kill them to protect people they might harm. You are not responsible for the people they might kill, but your sense of honor prevents you from standing by and doing nothing.  
Drizzt conceded the point. "And if I go to this tournament and lose?"  
Thelania became suddenly somber. "Then we will have lost a great warrior, but that has not kept you from walking into confrontations before. You have battled demons and dragons in the past. You will not be faced with such at this tournament."  
"In every situation before I have had my friends by my side," Drizzt said.  
"They can not come with you," she replied. "And they will not even know that you have gone."  
"Unless I do not return," Drizzt countered.  
Again Thelania's face became somber, but she said nothing.  
"I will go," Drizzt said finally, "but only if you personally visit my friends if I do not return to explain to them what has happened to me."  
"I would do nothing else," Thelania said.  
Drizzt nodded and got out of bed. He strapped on his equipment and turned back to his sponsor. "How do we get there?"  
"Like this," Thelania said, and they both disappeared in a flash of light.  
  
* * *  
  
Garem nervously paced about inside one of his back rooms in the old McKeener castle. It had been three weeks to the day when Styne, the terrifying man in black, had visited his shop and demanded him to make a flesh golem. The golem stood in the corner of room. Garem had asked for two weeks and Styne had given him three. With the extra time, Garem had poured all of his considerable skill and talent into the creation of this golem, forgoing all his other pending projects.  
Most flesh golems looked like ragged, sewn together corpses, but this one looked as if it had been molded out of flesh instead of sewn together. In fact, Garem had tried out several new spells to create this monstrosity. So smooth was its skin and so perfect were its joints, that you could easily mistake it for a man. Granted, he would be a 7-foot tall, 300 pound, genderless man with no hair and expressionless features, but the mistake could be made.  
Garem heard a noise outside his door and stopped his pacing. He had asked for five of the magic market's best guards to stand just outside the room in case things got out of hand, and that allowed him some measure of composure as Styne walked in. The man wore the same black clothes as before and had the same greatsword angled on his hip. He did not bother with a greeting but looked instead at the golem.  
"Is it finished?" he asked.  
"It is," Garem said. "It will respond to . . ." but he trailed off as the golem stood slowly.  
Garem watched in awe as his creation moved about as if it had a will of its own. It raised its arms over its head, squatted down, stretched its legs, and rotated its torso back and forth. It walked about, taking several quick steps and actually jumped into the air a few times, displaying more dexterity than Garem thought he possessed, much less any golem he had ever seen before.  
Styne could not hide his smile. His magic was easily controlling the creature, and he was very pleased with the results. It was better than he had hoped.  
"How are you doing that?" Garem finally asked.  
"A golem is designed to be programmed and controlled. I can not help that your skill in such arts is so limited. Mine is not." Styne grinned evilly at Garem. "Now we shall test its fighting skills." Styne turned to the back door of the room and shouted in a perfect mimic of Garem's voice. "Guards! Guards, hurry!"  
The five armed guards rushed into the room with their swords and didn't need to be given instructions. The golem raced over to them engaging them in combat before they even got their bearings. The golem deftly knocked away their attacks, blocking the flats of the blades, and then punching the men in the face. It wrenched one sword from a guard and spun it around his body with more skill than any of the guards had. With its magical strength, it was able to cut through their splint mail as if it were cheap leather. Within seconds all five guards lay dead on the floor.  
"You . . . you . . . you can't," Garem sputtered. "You mustn't."  
Styne pulled his serrated sword from its sheath and walked toward the magically minded smith. "I can and I will. I am going to make you promise to never repeat what you have seen here. But I know of only one way to make sure you keep that promise."  
Garem could do nothing but wave his arms frantically in front of him. He was a mage, but his memory of spells fled his mind in this moment of terror. Styne thrust forward with his blade. Garem had wondered how Styne would ever be able to withdraw his blade from a victim, but he was dead before he could find out.  
Lightning arcs traveled the length of the blade, disintegrating the flesh along the edge of the sword, allowing Styne to retract it quite easily. The result was a gaping hole in the chest of Garem as he fell to the floor. The blade sparked with a small residual charge as Styne sheathed it and turned to his golem. The creature was standing motionless over the dead guards, having not received any instructions since Styne had turned his attention to Garem. He would have to work on being able to direct his attention in two places at once if he wanted to pass as normal at this tournament.  
"And we are going to have to find you clothes and a more suitable weapon," Styne said to his golem. The creature just stared at him expressionlessly. It was perfect. Errtu will be pleased. 


	4. A Warm Welcome

Chapter 3  
A Warm Welcome  
  
The room was moderately large. It had a full dresser standing in the corner next to a vanity and sink. There were two windows open on the wall opposite the door, and a slightly salty breeze tossed about the thin curtains. An elaborate timepiece sat on an end table next to the vast bed, and on the bed sat a very confused Drizzt Do'Urden.  
Where was he? It felt as if he had just woken, but he knew this was not where he had fallen asleep. There was a faint memory tugging at the back of his mind, something about a glowing figure. Thelania! He had been in his room on the Sea Sprite talking with Thelania and she had sent him here. Why was he here again? Oh yea, Drizzt slumped his shoulders. He was here for a tournament.  
The door opened and eight people entered. Well, eight people almost entered. The four men took one look at Drizzt and turned right back around leaving only the four women. They looked human on first inspection, but there was something not quite right about them. Their eyes were too big, and while they appeared well built, they moved with a litheness akin to elves. And as one of the females turned to place a basin of warm water and soap in the sink, a gust of wind from the open window caught her hair and revealed an elvish looking ear.  
Drizzt looked at the other three, one of which carried a bowl of fruit and placed it next to him on the end table. Her short sleeved robe revealed a thick arm as she set the bowl down, far too thick for an elf, and when she caught Drizzt staring at her, she smiled. Her face was unnaturally round, and her eyes looked as if they would roll out if she opened them any further.  
"Do you require anything more?"  
It was one of the remaining two females. The one next to her was carrying towels and what looked like a folded up version of the robes each of them was wearing. The female who had spoke looked at Drizzt waiting for an answer. He just looked blankly at her, still not sure what was going on, and his eyes constantly flirting back to the female he had stared in the face.  
"This is a full service hotel. We can provide you with any food you desire prepared in any way. Our library is stocked with a vast array of books covering many cultures. And we also provide more 'personal' entertainment."  
Without prompting the, female who had carried in the fruit tugged at the tie in on her robe, and a second later, it was on the floor. Drizzt was shocked. It wasn't just her beauty, though that was impressive, but she was by far the most exotic female he had laid eyes on. Her skin was the deepest tan he had seen outside of dessert people, but it did not appear to have come from any sun. Her arms and legs were powerful, yet lithe.  
"Uh, I . . ." he stuttered, and as the naked female walked toward him, her hips swishing to and fro, he finally gained his composure. He slid off the bed on the opposite side of the approaching female. "I'm fine, thank you. I shall wash up with what you have provided, and that will suit me."  
"If that is what you desire," the leader of the group said. With that, they all gathered up their things and left him.  
Drizzt took a while to remember what he had just sorted out before his guests had entered. This was the greeting that all the fighters were probably getting, he thought. Thelania must have known this and could have better prepared him so he wouldn't have acted so clumsily.  
As if on cue, a familiar feminine laugh filled the room. "A fighter with discipline. I should have expected no less."  
"You knew this was coming," Drizzt said as the ghaele faded into view in the corner of the room.  
"Of course I did, but if I told you everything that was going to happen to you, how would you learn. In less than half an hour you will get into a nasty fight that could have been avoided if you had only said, 'A noble ogre,' but having said that, you will now likely avoid that fight and spoil my fun."  
"You find this situation fun? Am I here just for your entertainment?"  
Thelania shrugged. "You have to admit she was one of the most beautiful creatures you have ever seen. What would be the wrong in having a little fun? Is your heart given to another?"  
Drizzt didn't know if she was serious or if this was just a test. "There are many beautiful creatures in my world, some dangerously so, should I seek to bed them all?"  
"Why not?"  
"Very, well then," Drizzt said, reaching down and undoing his belt.  
"What are you doing?" Thelania asked, a shocked expression on her face.  
"Having a little fun," he replied. "Your beauty is comparable to few I've ever seen. If I am to make it my goal to enjoy life to it's fullest, I see no better way than to start with you."  
Thelania's beauty disappeared quickly as a scowl crossed her face. "You will find what you need downstairs. I shall speak with you again once you've reached the island." With that she vanished from the room.  
Drizzt smiled to himself. He hadn't dropped his belt yet, and now refastened it, securing his two weapons on his hips. It was hard to believe that Thelania was really a servant of Mielikki, such was her cavalier attitude. But then, to an uninformed observer, it would be difficult to believe that Drizzt was a drow.  
He spent a few minutes washing up, and then exited his room. He stood on a balcony overlooking a sparsely populated tavern. A couple doors like his lined the balcony toward the stairs.  
As Drizzt walked toward the stairs, one of the doors opened in front of him and two giggling females came running out. They were hastily retying their robes, but as one of them bumped into Drizzt, she went down to the wooden floor, and Drizzt got another view of what he had just passed up a few moments before. He helped her up, and she contemplated closing her robe as she looked into Drizzt's lavender eyes. He shook his head, and she ran off after her partner.  
"Quite a pair, those two." The voice came from Drizzt's left, and he looked into the room the females had just vacated. A man was adjusting his belt, or at least what Drizzt had first assumed was a belt. A silver chain was wrapped around his waist, each end of the chain linked with a foot and a half long ivory handle. They were nunchaku.  
"The ride of a life time," he continued, his eyes rolling back into his head as he remembered. "It must be the dwarven blood that gives them such powerful legs."  
Dwarven blood? Drizzt looked off toward to where the two females were scampering into a side door on the main floor of the tavern. Then it hit him. He could not identify their race earlier because they were some freakish combination of all of them. The human curves, the halfling face, the dwarven muscles, and the elvish dexterity. And they would have to be all of those things because they had no idea what kind of fighters would be arriving.  
"And tasted like the sweetest fruit," the man continued, his eyes looking at Drizzt with a glimmer as he licked his lips.  
Drizzt sneered at him, but didn't look away. This was definitely one of the fighters for the tournament, and if Drizzt was going to take this event seriously, he might as well take stock of his future opponents. Right now, having seen and heard what he had, he had no qualms about fighting this human.  
He stood a couple inches over six feet, a half-foot taller than Drizzt. He was thin but strong, his short sleeve tunic showing off powerfully muscled arms. As he walked onto the balcony, there was an obvious swagger and flair to him. His vest and tunic were colorful almost to the point of gaudiness. It looked like the man would pull out a red cape at any second and dance around the room like a bullfighter.  
The man bowed low when he reached the doorway. "Enrique Cortez, at your service."  
"My service?" Drizzt asked. "You service more than just women?"  
A scowl quickly crossed the man's face, but he fought against it successfully. An unnerving grin took over his lips. "Well, played friend. Though I had hoped the legends of drow surliness were overstated."  
Drizzt managed a smile despite himself. "For the most part," he replied. "I am Drizzt Do'Urden."  
"Well met, Drizzt," Enrique said. "Then this is the start of a strong friendship, until one of kills the other." He laughed, donned a plumed cap, and moved out onto the balcony in front of Drizzt to lead the way down the steps.  
As Drizzt looked at the cap, he realized why this man irked him so. He was like a combination of Jarlaxle and Entreri. The confident flare of one with the calculating edge of the other. Drizzt also cringed when he realized either one of those two fighters might be at this tournament. He quickened his pace after his new "friend."  
Enrique seemed to be friends with everyone, and knew several of the barmaids by name. They giggled at his lewd comments and then hurried about their tasks under the eye of an unforgiving bartender.  
"Trotter," the flagrant fighter called to the bartender, "Let's have a couple drinks for me an my new friend."  
Drizzt didn't care to drink, especially with the contest looming near, but this man obviously felt at home in these surroundings, and Drizzt needed a guide. He took the mug from Trotter as he took a seat at the bar and sipped it gingerly. It was fabulous. Drizzt had never been a fan of ale, but this tasted like the fabled evlish honey wine, with the fullness of the best dwarven mead.  
"You've been here before?" Drizzt asked.  
Enrique nodded as he took a generous swig. "It's been a long while, but it's almost as if I haven't left. Unfortunately we've arrived late my friend, and don't have the luxury to socialize as much as I would have liked."  
The bartender chimed in. "There are only two more scheduled runs out to the island, Cortez. You and your friend should be on your way."  
"We have plenty of time, my good Trotter," he laughed. "You aren't just saying that to try and get rid of me, aren't you?"  
"We just finished cleaning up your last mess."  
Enrique laughed, something he did a lot, Drizzt was learning. "That was a long time ago."  
"Not for us," Trotter replied evenly. "And it was a big mess."  
Enrique looked around the room as if he was reliving the distant/recent memory. Drizzt didn't exactly know which it was. "When does the next boat leave?" Drizzt asked.  
"When?" the bartender scoffed, looking as if that was the most absurd question he had ever heard. It looked for a moment as if he wasn't going to answer, but Trotter leveled a hard gaze on Drizzt. "At sunset," he answered and then walked away to help another customer.  
Drizzt looked at the fading light outside and turned to his companion. "It is nearly dusk now. We should leave."  
Enrique chuckled. "That Trotter is such a character. We will be fine, friend. Just finish your drink."  
Drizzt stood, letting it be known that he planned on leaving. The other fighter shrugged, downed his glass, and stood, beckoning forward for Drizzt to lead the way. Drizzt turned, took one step, and was thrown to the floor.  
He scrambled to his elbows, looking in front and behind him, wondering what had just happened. It felt like he had walked into a brick wall, but there was nothing in front of him except an empty barstool.  
An image started flickering then, as what Drizzt had walked into became clear. A huge creature was just standing up from the stool, its image seeming to fade in and out of reality. When it was finally fully visible, it stood 9 feet, towering over Drizzt and looking down on the drow past his elongated snout. The beast was covered with so much spiked armor, Drizzt was unsure how he had run into the monster without impaling himself.  
"Clumsy drow, watch were you are going or I'll remove your ability to ever walk again."  
Drizzt was stunned. The beast looked no more intelligent than a pile of bricks, but its speech denied its apparent ancestry. The creature accepted Drizzt's scrutiny with obvious scorn. "What are you looking at?" he said.  
Drizzt gathered himself quickly, throwing away the sarcastic reply that first came to himself. "A noble ogre," Drizzt replied.  
The ogre stared at him for a few breathless moments before laughing out loud. He bent over and picked Drizzt up by his shoulder. "Let me buy you a drink."  
"I'm sorry, good friend," Drizzt replied, "but I must be going maybe another time."  
The ogre patted him on the back, and Drizzt and Enrique walked out, Drizzt's new friend laughing as they went. "Don't you think you could have taken him?" he asked once they had left the tavern.  
"I don't know," Drizzt replied honestly. "That isn't usually the first thing I determine about someone when I meet them."  
"What are you, 'A noble drow?'" he asked, mimicking the tone Drizzt had just used with the ogre. Drizzt didn't answer, just shrugging his shoulders. Enrique predictably threw his head back and laughed. "This will be a good tournament. A noble drow, and phase shifting ogre, and . . . oh my."  
Drizzt followed Enrique's gaze toward a similar tavern to the one they had just walked out of. Drizzt wasn't surprised to see it was a woman who held his partner's attention. "There must be hundreds of them here," Drizzt replied, a bit of frustration creeping into his voice at his companion's one-track mind. "They are all the same, and they are nothing more than mindless slaves."  
Enrique turned to look at Drizzt, hurt in his eyes. "I'm afraid to say you've spent too much time in your lightless home to appreciate real beauty. That woman is not from this island."  
As they neared the woman in question, Drizzt could see that Enrique was right. She had long blonde hair like the slaves, but she was much taller, almost topping six feet. She wore a long brown cloak obscuring her body, but Drizzt could see the movements beneath it were graceful. They weren't lithe and seductive like the females before, but powerful and efficient like a trained warrior.  
Enrique was in front of her in a flash. "My lady, it is a privilege to make your acquaintance. My name is Enrique Cortez. Would you mention yours that I might engrave it on my heart."  
The woman stopped to look at the prostrate man before her, wondering if she should take him seriously. "My name is Druianalla."  
"Ah, Druianalla," he said slowly, as if he were inhaling a fragrant flower. On cue, he pulled a beautiful lily from his vest and held it before him as he knelt.  
"Druianalla so beautiful and fair,  
With deep blue eyes and golden hair.  
A gown of flowers is all you wear,  
Save when it's draped over my bedroom chair."  
Druia's hand snaked out fast for the offensive lyricist's face, but Enrique was ready for her, blocking the slap with the hand that held the flower. His other hand deflected her second strike, snaking around and grabbing her wrist. She tugged as he stood, but he was the stronger. She reached over with her other hand to free herself, and Enrique threw his flower at her face, stem first.  
Druia deftly moved her head to the side, as planned, and the lily brushed the side of her face as it secured itself behind her ear. She started to reach up for it with her free hand, but Enrique sent his other hand toward her chest. Druia had her priorities straight, and left the flower for now to block the man's lustful grab.  
Enrique hadn't expected to get close, but worked with the block, letting his arm fall low, sliding around her hip. He raised her still secured wrist in his other hand. "We could dance all night. We would make beautiful music together." He pulled her close.  
"Sing this tune," she replied, driving her knee up hard into his groin.  
"Ungh," he grunted, losing his grip on her lofted wrist. Druia brought it down hard, elbow leading, striking him in the temple, spinning him completely around. As he finished his pirouette, she kicked him hard in the chest, and he went tumbling to the dusty street.  
Druia stood over him with a grim look on her face. "The only chance you will have to see my bed is if you are called upon to change the sheets." She tossed the lily on his chest and walked off toward the dock.  
"If they had caressed your body while you slept," Enrique called out, "it would be my pleasure to--" but as he turned to finish, his side tightened up, and he grunted. "Buxom and bold, just the way I like them," he muttered to himself. When he struggled into a sitting position he saw Drizzt squatting in front of him.  
"Do you think you could have taken her?" Drizzt asked with a sly smile. "Isn't that the first thing you determine when you meet someone new."  
"What fun is life without a challenge?" Enrique asked as he struggled to rise. He winced. "If you would be so kind?" he asked, extending his hand.  
Drizzt grabbed it and hoisted him off the ground. Enrique dusted himself off and tossed the flower aside. He looked up after Druia. "But do not fear, friend drow, for she makes her way to our boat." He turned with a smile, "Shall we?" Drizzt beckoned for him to lead the way.  
The boat was not as large as the Sea Sprite, and did not look anywhere near as fast. There were several crewmen who had the same multiracial qualities as the other slaves on this island. Trotter had looked like a human, and likewise the captain of this vessel looked to be human.  
"Get up with you, we haven't got all day," the captain laughed. "Get yourselves on board and we can be off. I've got another of these to do before I'm done. Let's get moving."  
After Drizzt and Enrique had climbed onto the boat, two of the crewman retracted the gangway, and pushed off from the dock. Besides the crew, there were three other people on the boat with the new arrivals. Druia kept her distance, but Enrique winked at her any time she looked their way.  
Drizzt tensed when he saw one of the other two passengers. He looked like one of the countless pirates Drizzt had fought against for the past few years working for Captain Duedermont. He came complete with two machetes, a stubbled face, and an eye patch.  
"Quite the fashion statement you are making there, friend," Enrique said. The pirate had almost as much flair as the unique fighter, but not half the class. "The patch is a bit much though."  
"Would ye have me walk around like this then?" he asked, pulling the black patch away from his face. Beneath was a gristled, hollow cavity that Drizzt could have sworn held a few maggots.  
"No," Enrique said, acting as if he was barely keeping his lunch down, "I stand corrected. The patch is a nice touch." The pirate snapped it back in place and growled as he walked away. "Charming individual," Enrique added to Drizzt once the pirate was gone. "You'll have to fight me for a chance to face him."  
The last passenger was leaning against the far rail with their back to the pair. They wore a cloak with the hood up. Enrique's instincts didn't let the fighter's identity stay hidden for long.  
"And what fair maiden do we have here?"  
From her stature, she could have only been a female. She turned slowly, dropping the hood from her cloak. She was an elf, no more than five feet tall. Her head had looked much larger inside the cloak for she wore a fabulous metal headdress in the shape of an eye feather from an enormous peacock. It was almost as wide as her shoulders and stuck up a few inches over her head.  
"I would give you a rose," Enrique started, falling to one knee so he could look the elf maiden in the eye, "but you are already such a fine flower I feel my gift would seem inadequate."  
She barely paid him any attention. "My name is Adenae De'Aneda," she said, her eyes focused more on Drizzt. "I am here to fight, not to socialize. I have no need for foolish antics." She walked off.  
"I didn't even get to my poem, and she had such a beautiful name, a palindrome even. Think of the possibilities."  
Drizzt said nothing, but looked around at the sky. It had been dusk when they had left the tavern, and even though they had taken their time, the sky hadn't seemed to get any darker. Drizzt was beginning to understand all of the veiled jokes about time he had heard since arriving. "The ship leaves at sunset," Drizzt said quietly.  
Enrique smiled as he looked at Drizzt. "Not so stupid after all."  
Drizzt returned the look. "You'll have to excuse me. I grew up in a cave."  
  
* * *  
  
The boat ride took an hour, and as Drizzt predicted the sky did not get a shade darker or lighter. The island where the tournament was to be held loomed to the west, blocking out the sun, which silhouetted the mountainous island with what looked like waves of fire.  
Druia admired the view from the bow. Her memories went back to her time with the monks who had trained her, high in the snowy mountains. The sunrises and sunsets up there had been spectacular. The snow and ice glowed with energy as if they were a sea of fire.  
"Do you know the true beauty of a sunset?"  
Druia did not have to turn to know who it was. "That in a few minutes it will be too dark to see your face," she answered.  
Enrique leaned against the railing on his forearms, mimicking Druia's pose. "Why such venom from such a pretty face?"  
"Please tell me you are not going to break out into poetry," she turned to look at him. His face was very different than before. It seemed almost gentle.  
"I ask only a simple question. Can you see the true beauty?"  
Druia turned back to the view in front of her. The colors were spectacular. The waves were alive with fire, but the sky just above the island was bathed in the softest blues and violets. "That such power could create such peaceful splendor."  
"Spoken like a true warrior," Enrique said, "and a child."  
Druia spun on him, backing away a few steps. "What are you about?"  
Enrique smiled at her. "You see things based on their strength. That the sun, an immense ball of fire, could create such a pastoral scene is shocking to you because you are used to power inflicting pain and destruction. You have not yet learned that power is a minor thing in the vast sea of life. It is too often self destructive to be of any worth. Wisdom on the other hand . . ." Enrique faded off as he turned to his left. "Can you help us out?"  
Druia turned to her right to see Drizzt perched atop the cabin, trying to get an elevated view of the sunset. "The true beauty of a sunset is that tomorrow there will be another one just like it."  
Enrique smiled at the correct answer. "Spoken like a true eternal brother. And let me tell you something," he said quietly so only Druia could here it, "that drow did not grow up in a cave."  
"What are you talking about?" Druia knew she was young, and that the two fighters here were experienced, but all this talk of sunsets, wisdom, and beauty was going against the mindset she was trying to put herself in to prepare for the tournament.  
"This island is continuously bathed in the fading light of day, but the sun never goes down. Night will never come. This island is bathed in the light of eternity. 'The one who loves his life will lose it, and the one who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.'" Enrique stared out over the island in front of them. "The prize you seek here is more a curse than you can know."  
The captain's voice broke the mood at the front of the boat. He began shouting to the crew to prepare the boat for landing and to the passengers to get ready to disembark. Enrique smiled at Druia. "Welcome to the Shores of Dusk." 


	5. A Dinner Party

Chapter 4  
A Dinner Party  
  
Dusk Island was not big, maybe two miles across from east to west, four miles north and south. It was a 10.5-mile jog around the island, or at least it would be if the sand beach stayed constant all the way around. Instead, almost the entire western end was cliff face. The rest of the island sloped gradually back down to sea level, filled with trees and brush.  
The boat docked at the only visible pier on the Eastern shore. There was no reception party waiting for them and no immediate buildings. There was only the wooden pier and a bare sandy beach. The five passengers had no luggage with them, and the deboarding process went quickly.  
Drizzt turned to Enrique who seemed very sure of himself on this whole trip, almost as if he had done it before. Enrique just motioned to the sandy beach in front of them where Drizzt now saw a path of footprints leading up to the treeline and disappearing.  
"Even a blind man could find his way," the flashy man smiled. The pirate the two had met upon boarding pushed himself past the two stationary fighters, grunting as he did. "Or even a one-eyed man."  
The gruff sailor turned at this. "Ye better keep yer tongue where it belongs, or I'll add it to my collection."  
Enrique turned to Drizzt ignoring the apparent threat. "You'd think a man like that would collect something more useful from his enemies, like soap."  
Drizzt took a step away from his new "friend" a moment before the pirate charged. Two machetes appeared in his hands like magic, and they stayed defensive till the last second, driving forward into Enrique. The smaller man was light on his feet and hopped to the side, avoiding the rush. The attacker was ready for the dodge, and crossed his left arm over, sending it diving under his right arm toward his foe.  
Enrique too was ready for the counter and pirouetted, raising his left arm so the thrust went under his shoulder. Meanwhile, his right hand snaked out and grabbed the pirate's long sleeve, and tugged hard. This, the over-anxious attacker was not ready for. His arms crossed over, and he stumbled toward Enrique.  
The more nimble fighter hopped back toward the middle of the dock and grabbed fast at the sleeves where the pirate's arms crossed, shoving as he did. The gristled man was more dexterous than he looked, and managed to get his feet under him before he ran out of dock. Still, his feet were poised at the edge of the wooden planks, his body leaning back over the water, while Enrique's grip was the only thing keeping him from taking a plunge.  
The trapped man didn't struggle. He looked much stronger than Enrique, and could uncross his arms easily enough, breaking the smaller man's hold, but that would send him in the water. In fact, all Enrique needed was a hint of a coming attack, and he could let go.  
"I have a dilemma here, Drizzt," he said to the drow who was watching from a safe distance. Drizzt had watched the encounter with interest. He knew he could not take any of the fighters here for granted. Each fighter, in order to be invited, must be extremely talented, and there were no "wanna be's" here. Yes, Enrique had just handled this man quite easily, but not two hours ago, a woman had also handled Enrique quite easily.  
"I can either drop this mangy swashbuckler in the water to teach him a lesson, or I could preserve the longest bathless streak on record."  
The pirate grunted at the continuing insults. "What's your name," Enrique asked, staring into the man's one good eye, "or should I just call you Patches?"  
"Quin," was the response, "Quin Warren."  
"Well, Mr. Quin Warren, this tournament is a high class affair. If you continue your foul behavior and gruff attitude, every fighter here will be after your head. I'd give you a bath now, but I fear the salt would just make things worse." He heaved the man back and set him straight on the dock.  
Drizzt was unsure of what the man's response would be, but he sheathed his weapons and went off down the dock. "A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." Enrique smiled at himself. "I'm still going to kill him though."  
Enrique was chuckling to himself when he felt a sharp shove in his back. He had no chance to regain any type of balance and could take only one step before the edge of the dock. He took that step and jumped hard. The boat was still docked, resting gently 20 feet away, an impossible jump without a running start, but Enrique's nunchaku were off his waist and flung toward a mooring post. They grabbed hold, and his outreached foot caught the side of the boat and he heaved himself up, dry as a bone.  
He turned to look and see who his attacker had been and saw Druia frown at him and continue down the dock. "One day soon he is going to fall," she said to no one in particular, Drizzt the only one in range to hear, "and he will fall hard."  
Enrique was beside Drizzt a second later as if nothing had happened. "Shall we go?" The two walked down the dock and along the trodden sand. Just inside the tree line was a wooden staircase leading up the side of front of the island. Trees covered them now, blocking out what little light came from the ever-setting sun. The whole island was bathed in constant shadow, and sweet-smelling wicker torches lit the way toward the island's few buildings.  
This was the home of the realm's greatest mage, Drizzt thought. Thelania had called him Deltrophan. The setting was tropical and pleasant. As a ranger Drizzt appreciated the surroundings. Birds flew through the thick, leafy branches, and dozens of critters skittered along the forest floor and under the elevated boardwalk. Drizzt's understanding of wizards was of old men who lived in towers surrounded by books. This wasn't your typical wizard.  
They passed several small huts along the way, each looking like one room cottages, with evidence of current residency. No one else stopped at these, so neither did Drizzt or Enrique. Drizzt looked at his companion again for guidance and saw his eyes were fixed further ahead. Drizzt followed his gaze to see the target of their journey.  
The main building on this island was a palatial home. Wood decks at several different heights depending on the geography of the ground around it surrounded the building, reminding Drizzt of a wood elf village he had seen contained entirely within a tree. This building looked to be at least 5 stories high, angling up with the slope of the ground, which had either been cut away in this area or took a naturally sharp climb.  
Up on some of the higher decks, Drizzt could see several inhabitants, big men by the looks of them, and probably more fighters. Escorts were finally waiting for them once they reached the lower levels of the wooden palace. They were ushered into a small foyer, and then into a processing area.  
The escorts were more of the multiracial attendants that Drizzt had seen on the island, but as each guest was checked and inventoried, the staff began to look more professional. Drizzt knew this to be a school for mages, and he guessed the apprentices facilitated most of the work involved with the tournament.  
Directly in front of Drizzt was the elf maiden Enrique had briefly tried to engage when they had boarded the ship. She was next in line for processing.  
"Name?" the apprentice asked, holding a parchment and pen.  
"Adenae De'Aneda," she replied.  
"Sponsor?"  
"The great Gabriol, an Archon in the highest order of Corellon Larethian, who has felled-"  
"That will be enough. He has been here already and is waiting for you upstairs. Weapons?"  
"I wield the Feather Blade, fashioned by the elves of long ago who first raised the banner against-"  
"Is that one word or two?" the apprentice asked impatiently.  
"Uh, two."  
"May I see it?"  
Adenae threw back her hood, revealing again the massive metal headpiece she wore. It looked like the eye feather of a magnificent peacock. Adenae reached back and grabbed the base just below her neck, and pulled it free. The shaft was only half its length, and about a foot and a half, but Adenae quickly attached two 2-foot extension poles that had been hanging from her waist, and the weapon was suddenly 7 feet tall. The idea that someone as diminutive as this elf could wield such a weapon was incredible.  
"So it's a halberd?" the apprentice asked for confirmation.  
"Not just any halberd . . ." Adenae started, but kept her reply in check. "Yes," she said, giving the watered down version of her original inclination.  
The apprentice checked a few things on his form, and then gave her a room to which she could retire and wait for dinner. Drizzt stepped up next. He answered the questions as simple and clearly as possible, bringing a welcome sigh of appreciation from the apprentice.  
Drizzt did not hang around to hear Enrique's presentation, but caught bits of his trumped up accomplishes and heroics as he made is way through to the next room. He stopped in awe.  
What from the outside looked like a simple, albeit big, wooden cottage was nothing of the sort inside. While wood was still the main material used, marble, gold, silver, and other precious stones were in no short supply. Luxurious stairways and balconies swirled through the vast room like a nest of cobras entranced by a piper.  
All five floors were visible from this entrance hall and no symmetry could be found between them. It was like the interior of this building had just grown here, sprouting a floor or balcony where ever it liked, and then someone had come along and filled in all the gaps with marble and precious metal. Drizzt managed to weave his way through the hall to a staircase that looked as if it would take him to the third floor, where his room was located, but he guessed wrong, and had to double back several times before he found his destination. Thelania was waiting for him in his room.  
"I trust your trip was uneventful?" she asked when he entered the room. Her mood was much different from when they had first met. Drizzt's jab at her suggested lifestyle for him had apparently struck a nerve.  
Before responding to the ghaele, Drizzt took stock of the room. It was very similar to the one back on the mainland in which he had materialized. He could see an open closet in the corner with several changes of clothes, all appearing to be in his size and taste. Thelania had obviously had a hand in procuring those. Drizzt smiled to himself as he imagined demons of the lower planes going clothes shopping for their respective fighters.  
"What's so funny?" Thelania interrupted his thoughts.  
"Nothing. The trip was fine. When's dinner?"  
The sponsor frowned. "Have you not yet learned? There is no time here. There is no 'when' or 'for how long.' Things do not happen on a schedule here, they just happen. You're concept of eternity is better than most, being that you are an elf, but you still have a long way to go."  
Drizzt contemplated that, along with the last discussion he had been a part of on the ship. The true beauty of a sunset is that tomorrow there will be another one just like it. Physical beauty can fade and pass away with time, but some things in this life are eternal. Was that a good thing? Many of the fighters here, if not all, were lured by their sponsors with the prize of eternal life.  
Drizzt couldn't help but turn his thoughts toward Entreri, and hoped the man would not be here. Drizzt was young for an elf, just a teenager by human standards. But in a little over 20 years, Entreri would be 60. Drizzt knew it and Entreri knew it. The assassin's life, and the ranger's for that matter, would not last forever. They would accomplish what they could and then they would die. Was this a good thing?  
Food, if left outside, would spoil. Drizzt imagined that in a place like this, where time had no meaning and things did not age or grow, food would last forever. That had to be a good thing, right? The trees outside would never die. The bushes would not need to be trimmed back.  
Drizzt shook his head. As a ranger he knew that was wrong. Life had to exist in cycles. People are born, they live, and they die. It was the way of life. To the beings who had arranged his entrance into this tournament, the reason had been to end the demon onslaught that plagued the realm after past tournaments. To Drizzt the greater injustice was the disregard for natural order. He would try to set things right.  
  
* * *  
  
Entreri tried to wait patiently as the last group of fighters made their way into the palace. The current hold up came from the pair two in front of Entreri. It was a pair, and not a single fighter, and that was what the apprentice was having problem with.  
"You don't understand," Styne was saying. "He can not speak. His tongue was removed by hill giants three years ago. As his brother and a adept magic user, I have the ability to translate for him."  
Entreri didn't buy a word of it, and it didn't look like the apprentice did either. The two men couldn't look more dissimilar. Styne, for he had given his name, had white hair and tanned skin. He was dressed in all black, with a magnificent coat of chainmail under his cloak. He stood over six feet, but compared to his "brother," he almost looked like a halfing.  
Gunthor was just under seven feet, and massive in a way that goes beyond normal adjectives. He was muscular to be sure, but he did not posses the muscular definition of most barbarians. Instead his skin was smooth and pale. He wore a tunic made from buffalo hide, and Entreri guessed it had taken at least three of the animals to make it.  
The apprentice knew the rules that each fighter was to be unaccompanied, save their sponsor - this was, after all, a tournament for individual fighters. If everyone was allowed to bring an entourage, it would turn into a war. But Gunthor did in fact have no tongue, and if Styne had not come along, even the fighter's name would still be a mystery, and he had much more difficult questions.  
The apprentice gave in finally. "Very well, name your sponsor."  
"Errtu, a Tanar'ri from the Abyssal plane."  
Entreri's ears picked up at this. You couldn't have researched Drizzt's past and not know who Errtu was. This could be very interesting. If Raichik, Entreri's sponsor could be believed, Drizzt was supposed to be at this tournament. This could get interesting indeed.  
"Weapons?" the questions continued from in front.  
Gunthor pulled out a two handed axe from inside his cloak. The only thing more impressive than the weapon's size, was how the giant had kept it hidden in his clothes. Unlike most of the fighters, Styne did not give this weapon a name, and Entreri could not see anything particularly special about it, other than it could clear a forest in ten minutes. Entreri looked again at the bulk of the man who carried it. Maybe five minutes.  
The apprentice looked now at Styne. "And you?" The man dressed in black returned the look quizzically. "Weapons?" the apprentice clarified.  
Styne looked down at his great sword, acting as if he could have forgotten it. "Oh, this," he chuckled as if it were but a dagger. This is just for my protection. I mean I am surrounded by the realms best fighters. I need something to defend myself."  
"All magical weapons that enter this tournament, whether they are used or not, must be cataloged. If such a weapon is found on the premises that has not been declared, it will be confiscated. Those are the rules."  
Styne declared his weapon and the two "brothers" moved into the great hall. Next came a cloaked figure, only five and a half feet in height. Entreri was curious since he had seen this character on the ship. Their attitude seemed very shy and reclusive, and whilst the rest of the passengers had been taken in by the eternal sunset on the ride in, this figure had sulked below deck.  
"Name?"  
The figure pulled back the hood they wore and Entreri saw long brown hair fall out of it. "Lynn Shallarock," she said with an eccentric accent.  
"Sponsor?"  
"Garnaax the Demilich."  
The apprentice marked down the name with little interest, but Entreri shivered. He knew of Garnaax, and if he was here, the assassin suddenly wished he wasn't. If Death was not a skeleton in an apocalypse cloak, then it was Garnaax. What kind of woman would ally her self with such a fiend? His answer came next.  
"Weapons?"  
"You mean besides these?" Lynn said, and smiled broadly revealing her elongated incisors. A vampire.  
"Yes," now the apprentice shivered, "besides those."  
Her smile grew larger at the man's uneasiness. "I thought I should declare them. I don't want you to have to confiscate them later." She pulled out a whip that had been coiled on her belt. The end of the whip was made five lengths of barbed chain, and looked far too heavy to be effective. Then Entreri saw the chains wriggle on their own, and realized they were animated. Visions of his time back in Menzoberranzan came to his mind, and the high priestesses' whips, but he pushed them aside.  
"And I have this," she also pulled out a wicked looking scythe. Entreri didn't ever remember seeing anyone use a scythe in combat before, but given her choice of sponsor, it was a good touch of irony.  
Entreri was last in line. He answered the questions efficiently and was then informed that with all the fighters now present, dinner could begin. It was a chance to meet all the fighters, and Deltrophan was to be the host. This would be interesting.  
  
* * *  
  
Drizzt entered the dinning hall last, just as he planned. The room was large, much larger than it needed to be to hold the long dinning table. The ceiling was arched in the fashion of an old cathedral. Chandeliers hung about with crystal brilliance, and potted plants garnished every corner of the room. There was one table. At it sat all of the assembled fighters. They were either engrossed with each other or the appetizers that the apprentices were bringing out. This gave Drizzt a chance to take stock. As he looked around, he realized that some how he already knew everyone's name and a very brief background. He figured it was a spell the head mage had cast to avoid awkward introductions, and Drizzt appreciated it. How do you introduce yourself to someone you are likely going to meet in mortal combat the next day?  
No, Drizzt thought, there are no days here. It would be hard to adjust his thinking.  
Of more interest than the fighters, were the sponsors. Drizzt gazed at the hideous collection of demons and monsters that had brought these fighters here. There were a few celestial beings, but they were definitely out numbered. Drizzt's heart almost stopped as he locked eyes with Errtu. It had been years since he had seen the demon, but now those memories came flooding back. He had banished the creature during the battle over the crystal shard, and now Errtu sought to regain access to the physical realm prematurely.  
Because of the spell, Drizzt instinctively knew whom Errtu had sponsored, and his eyes found Styne and Gunthor at the table. Gunthor was not the largest fighter here, but probably the most imposing.  
Drizzt eyes scanned some of the other more interesting fighters. A tiefling was present, sitting on an elevated seat so he could have a fighting chance at the food set in the center of the huge table. Next to him, sat the largest fighter here, the phase shifting ogre Drizzt had already run into.  
There was a black knight, Roland Rexedia, large and rugged, his face covered with burns and acid scars. The typical result from battling dragons. There was also a paladin, Sir Toreance Willhiem, of the Order of the Thunder Blade. Drizzt had fought beside some of the war hungry paladins several years ago.  
Sitting next to each other at the far end of the table were two elves. Yelthium Oleander, was a moon elf, tall and regal. Next to him was Urenchick De'Astrilionian, a drow. He was the weapon master of the second house of Ched Nasad. Both of them seemed to be rather cordial and talking with each other. Drizzt wasn't fooled.  
If Deltrophan had been the one to assign the seating arrangements, then the mage was not without a sense of irony. He had the diminutive tiefling sitting next to the ogre, the black and white knights sitting next to each other, and then the drow and elf. Those two understood it, and only talked to each other now, because they knew they would likely have a chance to kill each other later.  
With that sense of irony, Drizzt looked for his spot. Even if the spell hadn't been cast over this room, letting Drizzt instinctively know where his seat was, there was only one left. Drizzt was not surprised to see who he would be sitting next to.  
"Please," Entreri said, standing slightly and pulling out the remaining empty chair, "join us, the food is excellent."  
Drizzt swallowed his frustration, and like the elf and drow, decided to play along for now. "I'm sure it is."  
  
* * *  
  
Deltrophan left his room and walked down the hallway toward the dinning hall. And so another tournament begins. He looked forward to these. The occasional excitement they brought went a long way toward livening up his monotonous eternal existence. He had started this school of magic to seek out like minds so he could share his magic and find others to join with him, but while he had trained many great mages, none had come close to his mastery, and so he was alone.  
There were 16 fighters this year. It was a good amount. Not too big and not too small. He'd handled as many as 20, but that was pushing the limits. Also, the last tournament had only nine fighters, and that had been over way too quickly. Deltrophan sent his mind back to that tournament. How long had it been? Though his students worked hard to wrap their minds around the timeless concept of this island, Deltrophan liked to have fun with it.  
After a bit of thought, he settled with 3,272 years. "Or was it yesterday," he thought out loud and laughed. He put the notice out in the realms every 250 years, but during that span an eternity could have passed on this island, or no time at all. He needed a significant time span to ensure he always got the best fighters. If he put the call out every 50 years, then he would just get the fighters that had not been good enough to be chosen the last time. While 250 years was not a full generation for elves, it was enough to take care of most of the rest of his races. But then he hadn't had an elf win in a long time.  
"Who are our favorites this year?" he asked out loud as he walked.  
An imp appeared suddenly, hovering next to the mage as he walked. Yeltriz was Deltrophan's familiar. The two had joined long before the mage had achieved greatness, otherwise a more suitable familiar might have been chosen. As it turned out, Deltrophan wasn't sure a better aid could be found.  
Imps were normally hideously ugly and stupid creatures. A few were clever, but they had no vision and understood their place in the world too well to hold any real aspirations toward acquiring intelligence. They merely existed to have fun, knowing that they were at the bottom rung of the demon world and they would live a harsh existence.  
Yeltriz was not at the bottom rung of anything. His demonic face had matured over the ages of union with this powerful wizard and appeared almost elvish now. His bulbous body had thinned down and acquired muscle. His spindly limbs had gained strength and size. In the end, he looked like a tiefling with wings. But it was his mind that had made the greatest improvement over time. He was more adept at magic then almost every apprentice that came in to the academy, and he was even more powerful than a few that graduated from it.  
He held a parchment in front of him now and began to answer his master's question. "Oohhh, we have quite a list this time, master. The regulars are back of course. The Thunder Blade has sent another knight. What shall we do with the sword he leaves behind this time?"  
Deltrophan had kept the first two for ornamentation in his office, but he had no use for them anymore. "I think the bridge over the eastern ravine is sagging a bit. It could use another support pillar."  
Yeltriz made a note of this. "We have another drow weapon master."  
"I must have another word with Lloth," Deltrophan said. "I've heard great things of drow prowess over time, but have yet to see evidence of it."  
"Well, we have two drow this time. The other, Drizzt Do'Urden, is spoken of very highly in the upper realms, and cursed rather vehemently in the lower ones. Then there is Enrique Cortez, of course."  
"Ah, Cortez," Deltrophan said, the memories coming back to him and a smile filling his face, something that only happened around tournaments. "He does make it interesting."  
"A few other's to watch are Yelthium Oleander, an elven warrior with an impressive past. Artemis Entreri, a human assassin that moves like an elf. And there is Lynn Shallarock, uh, (ahem) a vampire."  
Deltrophan stopped short, and Yeltriz flew forward a bit before he also stopped to turn and look at his master. "A vampire? Someone who is already dead, seeks eternal life? Who is her sponsor? Garnaax?"  
The imp nodded. Deltrophan was not smiling anymore. It was true that he was without rival amongst the living, but lichs were not alive. Not that Garnaax could defeat him in battle, they both knew that, but they also both knew that the Demilich was too powerful for Deltrophan to simply dismiss.  
"He does this just for spite. He tries to wreak havoc in any way he can."  
"What will happen if the vampire wins?" the imp asked.  
Deltrophan paused in thought. He did not know. He had set up the tournament so that eternal life would be given to the winner. He did not need to cast a spell, for eternal life could not be given through a spell. It wasn't that simple. It wasn't like he could test it out on vampires or zombies or other undead things to see what would happen.  
"I don't know," the mage said finally. "Is it likely the vampire will win?"  
Yeltriz looked back down at his list and the information he had gathered. "The possibility does exist. She controls quite a large portion of the underdark. She is without rival amongst her peers."  
"Let's hope we can find a rival for her here," the mage concluded. They were at the doors to the dinning hall.  
Deltrophan pushed the doors open, and all the commotion inside ceased. The palace was run by spells. Magic coursed through everything. Without time, magic was what kept things on schedule. The spell that allowed each of the fighters to know each other at a basic level was one such example. The way each of the fighters knew that their host had just entered and what ever they had been talking about was suddenly unimportant was another.  
Deltrophan climbed a few steps up to a stage at the front of the dinning hall. And looked over the collection of fighters that had been summoned for him. They all returned his look with interest. Well, almost all of them did.  
"Krlolgl!" Deltrophan admonished one fighter.  
The troll had half a leg of lamb in his mouth when he heard his name called. He had not come to attention when the mage entered the room but had kept eagerly stuffing his face. Now he looked up, food still hanging from his mouth and meat juices dripping all over him.  
"Not only do you not have the common manners of a domesticated dog, but I nearly sprained my tongue when I said your name. Be gone with you." And with that the troll disappeared.  
No one said a word. Yeltriz flew to the table and walked down the center of it. "Yes, my friends, the troll is gone, but to where?" The fighters didn't know how to react to this strange creature. Not many could guess as to what he was, so far removed was he from a normal imp. Regardless, they all wondered what gave him the gall to talk to them as if they were a bunch of children entranced by a storyteller. Yeltriz ignored their looks and continued. "Was he cast into the fires of hell? Was he merely banished back to his own home? No. He was just imprisoned deep in the center of the earth in a tiny maze of eternity. There his mind will be trapped forever, never able to gain coherence, with no chance for reprieve. Even the smartest scholar in the world would be driven mad in but a short time, but our friend will be there forever." Yeltriz finished his speech, looking each fighter in the eye to make sure they understood the weight of their situation. It was important that these fighters, each of whom held enormous power back in their own realms, realized they held none here. Having gotten his point across, the imp yielded the floor to his master.  
"Who brought that slimy worm into my home?" Deltrophan asked, looking to the back of the room where the sponsors mingled. Because of the familiarity spell, everyone knew who it was.  
The demon attempted grace. "My sincerest apologies, your awesomeness. I was merely following the instructions of my masters. Had I known what a sloth he was I would have never thought to bri-"  
Though the demon was not moving, he appeared to walk head on into a brick wall. During his plea for forgiveness, a small cloud of red smoke had started to swirl around him as he tried to inconspicuously leave the island. It didn't work. Now with his avenue out blocked, he attempted another route: suicide.  
He flapped his wings mightily and took to the air in the vaulted hall. His tail snapped back and the demon let out a terrific cry, plunging forward over the table and toward the seemingly defenseless mage. Deltrophan held up is hand and cast what looked like a simple ice lance.  
The demon banked to the side so the projectile would pass beside him, but the lance banked as well, driving straight into the creature's heart. He managed one more flap of his wings to clear himself of the table, and then he went frozen solid. The flying statue crashed into a pillar, broke in two, and then shattered onto the floor, skittering ice pieces all over the place.  
Deltrophan turned to his students who had been standing at attention, waiting to serve the hungry fighters. "Quickly, clean that mess up before he starts to melt. I don't want him stinking up the place."  
Yeltriz was now hovering in front of the sponsors, each in awe of what they had seen. The defeated demon had been no weakling, yet this mage had disposed of him as if he were but a bothersome pest. They had all fought against mages of the realm, and they knew that who they now faced was like nothing they had ever seen.  
"That demon was not just banished, mind you," Yeltriz said, even though all the sponsors knew what had just happened. "He was not just sent back to his demonic plane to live out 100 years of exile. He is no more. He has ceased to be. You would be wise to remember that."  
The glaberzu who was sponsoring the weapon master from Ched Nasad, reached out one of his pinchers to grab the imp, but Yeltriz disappeared in a puff and reappeared alongside his master on the other side of the room.  
"I will not tolerate insubordination," Deltrophan said sternly, looking around the crowd gathered before him, his eyes falling on Garnaax. The demilich looked pathetically small standing amongst the demons and celestial beings. But Deltrophan knew that within that withered corpse there existed tremendous power.  
Enrique enjoyed the show as well and picked out Quinn at the table. The pirate had taken Enrique's words to heart at the dock and had cleaned up a bit. His beard was trimmed, and his face washed. He too had the impulse to stuff his face, but he fought back those urges now, finding manners he didn't know he had.  
Drizzt and Entreri just exchanged curious glances. They had fought each other on several occasions and on each case, though they might not admit it, they felt as if they were competing for the right to be called the best fighter. Drizzt did not have a fraction of the foolish pride that drove Entreri, but he knew he was the best fighter among the drow. He would have to be a fool to go through the academy like he did and not know it.  
But now the two of them saw that they were but minor players in the realm. There were powers present in this room that they could not fathom and could not hope to stand up against. In fact, each of the fighters present was thinking this. That was of course the point of the demonstration. Enrique remembered that at the last tournament, Deltrophan had made an example of the returning champion. Banishing him in a similar fashion and destroying his sponsor. He had done it just to show the fighters that this was his tournament and he made the rules. Fairness had little to do with it.  
Some people at the table still did not understand that though. "How will the tournament work now?" It was the phase shifting ogre, Wrugib. "With sixteen fighters, a standard elimination system would have worked well. Now we have an odd number."  
Those who had thought he was just a stupid ogre, now thought differently. It was a keen observation that no one else had made.  
Deltrophan was glad someone had asked. "There is no standard for this tournament. You will fight whom I say you fight when I say you fight them. If I choose to hold Cortez back and allow him to fight only once in the final match after the rest of you have killed yourselves off, that is my prerogative. If I decided to let you, all wise and knowing Wrugib, fight everyone here one at a time until either you win or are killed, that is my choice. I am doing this for my entertainment. Thus I will do what pleases me. Do not think you are entitled to anything."  
Deltrophan let that settle in before continuing. "While there are no rules governing me, there must be rules to govern you and your interactions with each other. Anyone who kills another outside of the battle ring will suffer. I don't believe I need to elaborate on that point. You may interact with your sponsor in any manner you wish. They exist on this island as you do, mortal and vulnerable. The same rules apply to them.  
"Whilst I enjoy a good battle, I do not appreciate slaughter. If you feel incapable of fighting the opponent you are faced with, I will spare your life and banish you from the island to your home where you will retain no knowledge of your time here. However, once you set foot in the battle ring, you are committed to the fight. The only way to leave is to walk out victorious or to be carried out defeated. Each battle is to the death. No exceptions.  
"There will be no magic used in combat. If I want to see a fireball display, I will hold a contest between my students. Teleportation spells, invisibility, magical shielding, and other such spells are all forms of cheating. This is a contest for fighting skill. If you can't beat him straight up, then don't enter the battle ring. Are there any questions?"  
"Is Arvarian still here?" Enrique asked almost at once.  
Deltrophan nodded. "There is plenty to keep you entertained while you are here and I suggest you socialize whilst you can. I don't need to stress to you the importance of knowing thine enemy. There are several gaming houses and taverns here to keep you entertained. And I believe Arvarian will be performing after the first matches, meaning some of you will not get to hear her.  
"Also, these social venues are the only chance you will get to mingle with the other fighters. No one is allowed in anyone else's room. That's not just a rule. There are magical barriers in place, and I dare any of you to try and break them."  
The mage waited to see if anyone else had a question or comment. Seeing none, he left the stage. "The rest of the evening is yours to do with as you like. The matches will begin at sunset." With that he walked out of the hall, leaving behind a group of puzzled fighters. Enrique just laughed. 


	6. Know Thine Enemy

Chapter 5  
Know Thine Enemy  
  
Druia walked into the tavern cautiously, taking stock of all those inside.  
The palatial home of their host was built into the side of the island, and there were scores of subterranean levels, some cavernous in size. Down there was where the arena was and also where the venues for entertainment were located.  
Druia had walked into many taverns in her life, each time taking stock of those inside. Before it had always been to determine weaknesses and strengths, to find out whom she needed to worry about and whom she could ignore. She didn't always look to get into a brawl, but things happened. Now she did not do that. Everyone in this room was a top-notch fighter of a level she had never encountered. A brawl that could take place here would be something of legend.  
There were several empty tables but for once, Druia was not looking for time alone. If that's what she wanted she could have stayed in her room. What Deltrophan had said was true. This was a great chance to learn about your enemies. She spotted Drizzt and Enrique sitting at a table toward the middle of the room and started toward them, but stopped. She knew them pretty well already.  
Instead Druia scanned the rest of the tables but cringed at the idea of sitting with any of their occupants. The black knight sat by himself brooding over a mug of ale. Xorian Rockbottom and Quinn were seated next to each other and seemed to be engaged in a belching contest. The dwarf was winning. Urenchick De'Astrilion and Yelthium Oleander, though the elves differed in skin color, seemed to be long lost brothers. There was one relatively quiet table in the corner with a lone figure.  
Druia made her way toward the solitary man, aware that she was being watched the whole way. She stopped before sitting down. "Artemis Entreri."  
Entreri looked up at her, taking a moment to realize this woman knew his name, not because of reputation, but because of the familiarity spell. She was tall, taller than Entreri, though they likely weighed the same. Her arms were thick and her legs powerful, yet the way she moved one could tell she was as spry as a cat. Though it didn't need to be said at a tournament like this, she looked formidable.  
"Have a seat, Druianalla," Entreri offered graciously.  
Druia sat down and a barmaid was next to her in a moment. She saw that Entreri was drinking water and asked for the same. There was silence between them for two minutes before Druia spoke. "What do you think?"  
Entreri took a long draw from his glass and looked out over the crowd. It was a very open ended question and he paused before answering it. "I think all of us but one will die." He looked at Druia now to see her reaction. Her face was unreadable. "Are you afraid to die?"  
Druia shook her head. Entreri believed her. "I am not afraid," she clarified, "but neither is it a comfortable feeling to realize that we are dining with dead men."  
"What do you feel your chances are?" Entreri asked. She seemed young and inexperienced, but Entreri wondered how she saw herself.  
"As good as anyone else's. And you?"  
"The same," Entreri smiled, not willing to give anything away.  
"If you had to put money on someone other than yourself, who would it be?"  
Entreri's reply came without hesitation. "One of the two fighters sitting at that table." Druia did not have to look to see which table he was motioning to.  
"What do you know of them?" she asked.  
Entreri turned to stare at the pair. "I know a great deal about the drow." He looked at the scimitars hanging from Drizzt's belt remembering well how the curved blades flowed around his body. "I know that one too well. As far as the human, I know nothing more than you. Enrique Cortez is the returning champion. He carries himself with an air of confidence. He has lived well in the 250 years since he won and has survived everything that has been thrown at him. Plus he reminds me of someone else I know who could be here if he wanted."  
"Who?" Druia asked.  
Entreri remembered the last time he had seen Jarlaxle. He shook his head. "Another drow. You don't know him."  
"So why do you think the two best fighters here have decided to become friends?" Druia asked, for Drizzt and Enrique had never been far apart.  
"That is what I am trying to figure out."  
The table at which the two mismatched fighters sat was in the middle of the room on purpose. Enrique liked to be the center of attention. He threw back the last of his ale and called for another, the third of the night.  
"Are you not worried how that drink will affect your fighting?" Drizzt asked, who, like Entreri, had decided to drink water tonight.  
Enrique laughed. "Nonsense. You can not get drunk here. It has something to do with another spell. Deltrophan treats his guests to the best luxuries imaginable, that is, before he watches them die. Have I told you I love it here?"  
"So is this why you came back? Seems a high price to pay for a chance at death."  
Enrique grew suddenly serious. "Yes, well, Deltrophan didn't advertise that part of the deal. If you win, you have to come back to the next tournament if you are still alive. It has something to do with the spell. I do not want to be here." He leaned back from Drizzt raising his voice again. "But as long as I am here, I might as well enjoy it."  
"And when you won last time, and unleashed a demon into the realms, how did you celebrate your victory?"  
Enrique could tell Drizzt wanted to discern his true nature or motivation, but the flamboyant man wasn't playing. "I ran like hell. That stupid balor found me, I freed him, and then as far as I was concerned, our contract was over. He raided some city, and I sailed to the next continent."  
"You cared nothing for the people he killed?"  
"No more than for the people I had to kill to win the tournament, nor any more than you will feel for the people you must kill to fight in this one. He got what he had coming to him anyway. A few mages assembled and destroyed him. Not banished mind you, destroyed."  
Drizzt knew this already, since Enrique did not have a balor sponsoring him this time. The familiarity spell told him what was sponsoring him now, and he shuddered to think of the possibilities.  
Druia approached their table now. Drizzt looked up and saw that she had just been talking with Entreri. Drizzt shook his head. He could stand to see ogres and drow here. He even understood why dwarves and elves might be here. But this young woman had no business at this tournament. He said as much.  
"What are you doing here?"  
Druia sat down at the table smiling. "My other conversation partner is too shy to come over here to find out what you two are talking about, so I thought I would see for myself."  
"This isn't a game," Drizzt said sternly. Enrique rolled his eyes, but the drow continued. "This is life and death. This is no place for you."  
"But it is a place for you!" she scolded back.  
"You tell him," Enrique cheered.  
"Why are you allowed to be here and I am not?"  
Drizzt looked at her solemnly. "Are you ready? What in your short life has prepared you for what you are going to face?"  
"I am not scared to die." Hadn't she just had this conversation with Entreri?  
Drizzt smiled at her and she was surprised how attractive it made his face. "No, I can see you are not. But that is not what I am talking about. Most people are prepared to die, for we all will one day. But are you prepared to kill?"  
Druia paused. She almost started a response, but Drizzt cut her off. "Oh, I'm sure you've killed before. What were they? Goblins? Trolls? Maybe a vigilante or two. You might have killed several men already. But have you looked into their face as you did it? Did you know their names? Could you stick a blade into my chest right now?"  
"If it kept you from sticking one into mine, yes."  
Drizzt leaned back in his chair. "We shall see."  
The table was quiet for a moment. "Come on," Enrique spoke up, "what's with all this talk of dieing for? None of us are going to die. I'm sure we will all tie for the championship. Now, my fine young lady, what do you say about joining me at a more private table away from this brooding drow."  
"Cortez," the voice came from behind him. "I figured I would find you here, schmoozing it up with another woman."  
Drizzt looked over Enrique's shoulder at the woman who approached. She was Drizzt's height with a rich tan and dangerously attractive. Her dress hung down to her ankles but was slit up high on either side letting everyone who cared to know, that she was wearing nothing else but that dress. It was gathered tight around the waist and loose above in order to envelop her voluptuous chest, which it barely did. Her name was Dekaina. She was a succubus. She was Enrique's sponsor.  
"Honey you know I wouldn't do anything," Enrique said, half turning to look at her. Her attention was focused on Drizzt though.  
"My dear, you have not yet introduced me to your friend. I never thought a drow could look so regal."  
Drizzt could feel her enchanting spell at work, but he shook it off easily. "You've known each other longer than just for this tournament, haven't you?" It was clear from Drizzt's tone what decision he had made as to Enrique's moral standing.  
"She came to the realms with my previous sponsor, took one look at me, and has thought of nothing else since." Enrique rolled his eyes, "Except when she sees any other warm blooded male with two legs."  
Dekaina acted insulted. "How dare you! They didn't all have two legs, and there were a few females too. In fact," she turned her attention to Druia, "you look like you could hold your own in a tussle."  
"This is your sponsor?!" she cried, sliding her chair back from the table. She had the information from the familiarity spell, but had no idea what a succubus was.  
"Yes," Drizzt informed, also sliding his chair away from the table. "She is a succubus. A life sucker. Little better than a vampire if you asked me, only far more demonic."  
"And when you have as much life as I do," Enrique started, but Dekaina shut him up by sitting on his lap and kissing him.  
"Let's just say there is a lot of sucking," she added in a lewd tone.  
Drizzt stood in disgust and turned to leave. He stopped short. The other two elves stood in front of him. The drow spoke first.  
"We care to settle a wager," Urenchick said. "I have heard much of Drizzt Do'Urden from Menzoberranzan. We care to see if the legend is true."  
"I am not convinced that you drow are superior in any way to us," the moon elf spoke up. "We propose a contest."  
"Any contest of skill will be decided when the tournament begins," Drizzt said. "There shall be no fighting before." Drizzt tried to step around them, but the surface elf grabbed his arm.  
"And will our host arrange for all three of us to be put in the ring at once?" Yelthium continued.  
Drizzt eyed these two elves in front of him. Did they really want to fight it out between the three of them regardless of what Deltrophan had said? "What ever we do, it should be done outside, away from this crowd." Drizzt looked around at the tavern, noticing that they were suddenly the center of attention. Entreri had even gotten up from his table and was walking over to see the show.  
"No," Urenchick said, "we should do it here."  
"This is not the place or time for weapons," Drizzt disagreed.  
"Who said anything about weapons?" Yelthium asked.  
Drizzt looked confused for a moment before the surface elf reached out his arm and opened his hand. On his palm lay three jeweled darts. Drizzt looked beyond the two elves and saw a dartboard hanging on the far wall.  
"A test of precision and accuracy," Urenchick said. "This surface elf won't have a chance."  
"Watch your tongue, drow," Yelthium admonished. "I'll drive this dart through your eye if you're not careful."  
Drizzt raised his hand to quiet them. "I accept your challenge."  
The crowd behind them parted to let them through, and Entreri started after them to see the contest. A hand grabbed him fast. "Excuse me, I don't believe we have been properly introduced yet."  
Entreri didn't need to look to know who it was. Instead he yanked the arm hard, and turned while drawing his dagger. Dekaina stood quickly from Enrique's lap and came in close to Entreri. The assassin slipped the dagger into the left arm hole of her dress, pricking her beneath her ample breast. Her breath was caught in her throat as she felt the life stealing energy of the dagger.  
"You're not the only one who can suck the life out of someone." Entreri's eyes bore holes into the temptress' skull, her enchantment spell completely forgotten. For the first time in 250 years, the last time she was on the demonic plane, she was frightened. She tried to pull away, but Entreri was using her own strength against her, channeling it through his blade.  
The assassin finally smiled at her, pulled his blade out from inside her dress, drawing a line of blood as he did, and pushed her back toward her fighter. She landed on Enrique's lap just as he was trying to stand. He grunted as he sat back down hard. "Not now Dekky," he said as he pushed her away his attention focused elsewhere.  
"But sweetie," Dekaina said, pulling the top of her dress aside to reveal half of her chest, "that man cut me. Can you kiss it all better?"  
He didn't even bother to glance at the nudist display, but gently pushed her away and stood. She slumped to the floor without his lap to support her and watched as he followed Entreri to watch the dart match. Druia also stepped past her and laughed. Dekaina pouted.  
The three elves set up 10 feet away from the board to start, a ridiculously close range for competitors of their skill. After nine bull's eyes, they doubled the distance. After nine more, the added another 10 feet. Drizzt saw quickly what the results would be. At this range, 30 feet, you needed to put considerable loft on the dark to keep it on target.  
Drizzt and Urenchick had grown up in the underdark where the only projectiles were darts or crossbows. The moon elf had grown up with arrows, which are completely different. At this range, you don't need to adjust for gravity with a bow. On Yelthium's first throw, he was too low, then too high on his second. His third hit the mark but both Drizzt and Urenchick had hit the bull's eye twice.  
The drow looked at each other as they had eliminated the surface elf. "Do you want to move back or stay here?" Urenchick asked.  
Drizzt glanced back and saw they only had about five more feet to move. "Do you think you would miss from this range again?" The other drow shook his head. Drizzt didn't think so either. They had both missed their first throw from that range, but had made the appropriate correction and made the second two.  
Drizzt stepped back five feet until he was up against the bar. He hit all three. Urenchick confidently threw and also hit all three. "This will go on forever," Druia moaned.  
"They will miss eventually," Yelthium said.  
"No they won't," Entreri corrected. They hit six more.  
"I'll put an end to this," Druia said and pushed her way through the crowd. Urenchick was just getting ready to throw when she stepped up behind the pair. "To make it more interesting I thought I might sleep with the winner," she whispered into their ears. Urenchick ignored her and hit the bull's eye.  
"I can do things to you that you have never imagined." Bull's eye. "Things that would make your legs weak and make you cry out for mercy." Bull's eye.  
It was Drizzt's turn. "What about you? Could you take me?"  
"Please," Drizzt replied sarcastically as he hit his first bull's eye.  
"I could bring friends," Druia continued in her most sultry whisper. "I'm sure I could convince a few of the multiracial attendants here to help." Bull's eye. "Or maybe the succubus could help."  
Drizzt's arm faltered on the last throw, and not only did he miss the bull's eye, but he missed the entire dart board by two feet, the dart imbedding into the wall beside it. Drizzt turned with a frustrated look on his face, but Druia just smiled at him.  
"Looks like your friend here is better under pressure than you," she said.  
"Yes," Urenchick agreed, "it looks that way."  
Entreri didn't buy it. As the crowd began to clear, the assassin made his way over to the dartboard. Before moving to Drizzt's last shot, he noticed how centered each of the bull's eyes was. He didn't know how the darts hadn't split each other, so tightly packed they were. Then he moved to the dart that was stuck in the wall. Entreri took one look at it and smiled. "Sacrilege," he muttered under his breath.  
He pulled the dart free from the wall. Pierced on the center of the prong was a small spider. "Interesting," the voice spun Entreri around. It was Enrique. "He a friend of yours?"  
Entreri looked to where Drizzt was, back at the table, finishing his drink and the rest of Enrique's. "An acquaintance," Entreri clarified.  
Enrique smiled. "He's good. Very good."  
Drizzt put down the ale, thought about getting another one, for it was excellent, and if what Enrique had said about the sobriety spell was true . . . He shook his head and moved toward the exit. As he tried to leave, another figure was coming in. Though the cloaked figure appeared to be the same size as Drizzt, the elf was thrown back a few steps. Drizzt wondered if the ale hadn't had some effect on him after all until he looked up and saw who it was.  
Lynn Shallarock looked at the drow in front of her and smiled. She threw her hood back and let him see clearly her elongated teeth. "Drizzt Do'Urden." She said it with the same tone of voice Druia had used when addressing Entreri earlier, but Drizzt could tell her familiarity with him had nothing to do with the spell. "I have heard a lot about you."  
Drizzt could tell without looking about that all eyes were on the two of them. "I'm happy to say the familiarity is not mutual." He tried to move around her, but she side-stepped to stop him.  
"Jarlaxle never mentioned me?" her voice sounded hurt. "He's said a great deal about you over the past few decades. He said that he had finally found someone that could take me down."  
Drizzt ignored her and tried to step the other way. It didn't work. Her hands snaked out from under her cloak, grabbing Drizzt's upper arms. The drow was amazed by the strength of the grip. "I love the taste of drow blood," she whispered so only he could hear. "It is unspoiled by the sun."  
Drizzt's hands snapped up, two daggers in each, though no one had seen him draw them. He drove the pommels of each into the soft wrist of his new friend. Her arms went wide as each hand went momentarily numb. "I guess you are our of luck," Drizzt replied, his daggers back in their hidden sheathes before any of the watching apprentice mages who were keeping guard over the tavern could interpret his move as an attack. "I've spent the past two years sailing the sword coast, basking in the sun."  
The vampire clicked her tongue in disappointment. "That's a pity. To spoil something as pure as drow blood." She stepped aside to let him pass. "Who knows," she threw at him as he left, "a little sun might add some spice. Then I wouldn't have to add cinnamon."  
Drizzt shuddered, but did not turn around to acknowledge the comment as he headed back to his room.  
  
* * *  
  
Gunthor held his axe in a ready position, the right hand low on the handle, the other cradling the shaft of the massive weapon just beneath the head. The blade of the axe bounced up and down slowly, in and out of the left hand, staying ready for a quick strike to come. It came.  
The axe spun upright, perpendicular to the ground and slashed diagonally down. It twirled and came back up, meaning to cleave its opponent in two up the middle. Both cuts had been made with one hand, but now the left joined the right on the handle as the axe stayed high in a defensive position. The block moved left, then right, and then spun down into an attack. It cut across at knee level and then swung up and around, coming back down in a massive overhead chop.  
The attack turned quickly defensive, coming back to block a blow at waist height, and then rotating to the side to fend off another attack. It jabbed forward twice to put the opponent off balance and then moved forward, hacking left and right as if it were clearing a path in the jungle. Then it suddenly stopped. It was back at the ready, the axe head bouncing slowly in the left hand.  
"Impressive."  
Styne shook himself from the meditative trance he had been in to control the flesh golem and looked over his shoulder to see Errtu hunched behind him. They had a big room, for Gunthor was not a small fighter, and while it was spacious enough for Styne to practice, the demon sponsor found it a tight fit.  
"That display is very impressive, but no less so than any of the other fighters here."  
Styne stood from the edge of the bed where he had been sitting and walked over to look at the golem. "You think we will not win?" he asked calmly, as he checked Gunthor's stance for the hundredth time. Programming the golem had been a work in progress for the past week. Styne had several poses and actions for the golem that could be performed with little or no effort on his part, and he was constantly adjusting the way Gunthor stood to make him look as life-like as possible.  
"We might win," Errtu said, "but I am not confident you can keep your chicanery a secret for long. You will be discovered."  
Styne took note that when the demon spoke of winning, it was always as "we," but when it came to cheating and the penalties they might incur for it, Styne appeared to be on his own. "Do not worry. I have spent a lifetime perfecting my magic and no one will suspect a thing."  
"And how many lifetimes has our host spent perfecting his craft?" The brief display of Deltrophan's power at dinner had unnerved Errtu.  
Styne looked up from his examination after making a slight alteration to the bend in Gunthor's knees. He smiled at Errtu. "Deltrophan is the least of our worries."  
The demon threw his head back and laughed. "You must not have seen what I did. He could end either of our lives with a wave of his hand."  
"But he won't," Styne insisted. "For if he did, his reputation would be ruined and no one would risk entering his tournament. The display at dinner was meant to keep us in line. He will not randomly kill anyone else."  
"But if he catches you cheating . . ."  
"He will not. I know how his magic works. I will avoid detection."  
Errtu frowned. "And where have you gained this intimate knowledge of our host?"  
Styne thought about telling this demon the truth. Should he tell him the real reason Styne was here? Not yet. "Did I not seek you out?" Styne asked instead.  
Errtu nodded. Unlike everyone else at the tournament, this sponsor had been picked by the fighter. It hadn't taken Styne long to find a powerful being banished to the abyss and longing to be freed. "I know what I am doing. We will win and you shall once again walk the material plane."  
Errtu smiled at this and flexed his claws. "And then I shall enact my revenge on the one that banished me."  
Styne smiled, wondering if he should speak up. He couldn't resist. "You do realize that if we win, the drow will have to be killed in this tournament."  
Errtu's smile disappeared. "Just make sure you are not caught," he said gruffly and faded out of the room in a swirl of smoke. Styne laughed to himself, sat back down on the edge of the bed, and continued to practice.  
  
* * *  
  
Deltrophan was relaxing in his hot tub when Yeltriz popped into the room. The imp struggled briefly to breathe in the thick steam and then flapped away to a clear corner. The mage heard the commotion and stood from the bubbling water. The magical energy that had been surging through the water, heating and agitating it, suddenly stopped, and with a wave of his hand, the room cleared of steam.  
"You should learn to knock first," he said as he wrapped a robe around himself.  
"On what, master?"  
Deltrophan flicked a finger in the air and the space in front of him sparked and snapped. "Instead of transporting yourself through the portal, send a warning sound first. Not a difficult alteration to the spell."  
The imp nodded slowly, going through his mind as to how he could change his spell. "Yes, master. I will make an effort to guard your privacy better."  
"Good," Deltrophan sat down in his personal chair and motioned for his familiar to settle down on a stool. His constant flapping annoyed the mage. "Now what do you have to report?"  
Yeltriz had spent the last while observing the fighters at the various taverns. There were spells of protection on the personal rooms to avoid prying, but the taverns were free game. It was another reason Deltrophan encouraged the fighters to socialize. "This will be a good tournament, master. Rivalries are almost setting themselves up."  
The imp pulled out a parchment and looked at his notes. "Yelthium and Urenchick despise each other. Their hatred couldn't be more obvious from the way they act as long lost friends. Neither I think has a chance to win, but their fight should be enjoyable. Cortez and Entreri are cut from the same mold. Besides testing them each early, I would hold these two till the end."  
Yeltriz scanned down some more. "Drizzt might be a problem. He doesn't want to be here."  
"Then why did he come?" Deltrophan asked. He hated apathetic fighters.  
"He was charged by his goddess to come. He doesn't want to fight, but he might be the best fighter here. You will need to give him someone he can fight with a clear conscious."  
Deltrophan piffed at that idea. He might have an immortal life, but his conscious was long dead.  
"I recommend the vampire," the imp said.  
Suddenly the mage's face picked up. Yes, he would like to see that. The most moral fighter in the world shouldn't have a problem fighting a vampire. Especially one sponsored by a demilich. "Anyone else of interest?"  
"You don't like female fighters. Beside the vampire, we still have two. Driuanalla seems formidable, and might win a time or two. Cortez seems to have gained a liking toward her. The other, Adenae De'Aneda, an elf, doesn't look like much. She and the tiefling should go down early, to make the most of them you might want to fight them against each other to start.  
"The rest is standard fair," he said going down his list. "There are two knights, an ogre, a dwarf, and a . . ." he paused. "I'm not sure what Gunthor is. He is unlike any human I've seen before but he doesn't seem to fit a different race. What ever he is he will need a massive opponent. I recommend the ogre or paladin.  
"Lastly we have a pirate, whom Cortez is practically begging to kill."  
"He can't fight everyone," Deltrophan said, though he wouldn't mind watching that. As the returning champion, he would have immortal stamina, but everyone has their limits. "Is that it?"  
The imp went over his list again and nodded. Deltrophan stood and reached for his normal robes. "Fifteen fighters, very good. I shall sit in contemplation and then we will begin. You may tell the fighters that they have . . ." he pretended to glance at an imaginary watch, "the rest of their lives to get ready." He laughed as Yeltriz disappeared to deliver the message. 


	7. Round One

Chapter 6  
Round One  
  
Yelthium and Urenchick stood 30 feet apart, glairing at each other. All notions of friendship were gone. They had entered the arena with the clear knowledge that only one of them would be leaving.  
Yelthium held a long sword and shield. The sword was a moon blade and hummed with a green light that mirrored the fire in the elf's eyes. His shield was of standard design for an elf, tall with a tapered bottom. It could be held vertically or parallel with the ground on the arm. This was effective for horse riding, and a silver spike protruded from the top so the shield itself could turn into a punching weapon.  
Urenchick was outfitted as was common among the drow with two bladed weapons. The swords were twins and of drow make. Both fighters wore supple chain mail, gauntlets, and a look of hatred on their faces. The drow attacked first.  
Urenchick spun his blades about in a memorized pattern, hoping that this surface elf hadn't fought against too many well-trained drow in his life. With the rigorous training each drow soldier received, there were many standard attack drills and corresponding defensive routines.  
Yelthium did not recognize the attack pattern, nor did he need the defense routine. He swiveled his shield along his arm and met the charge. His sword parried one attack while his shield absorbed the other. Holding the shield as he was, he was able to block and jab at the same time. This was new to the drow, and he backed off for a moment. His opponent took advantage.  
The moon blade went on a furious attack. Yelthium's shield was once again vertical, almost completely covering his left side while his right hand went on the offensive. Fighting without a shield meant you always had to stay somewhat defensive for your only means to block a deadly attack was a thin piece of steel. Yelthium did not need to worry about that.  
The drow back-pedaled now, trying to get his feet under him while the heavy attacks from the long sword rained down. The moon blade was a foot longer than either of his weapons, and therefore had a significant advantage. He finally reasoned that while the shield gave the surface elf a huge defensive bonus, it had to have a negative as well, and that must be mobility.  
The moon blade came in high, and Urenchick ducked, slapping both of his blades against the shield that covered Yelthium's legs. The drow used the block as leverage to roll to the side and get around the shield to find a more vulnerable area.  
The moon elf was more than ready for the maneuver, for he knew better than anyone the limitations of his fighting style. He offered his left leg to the drow, and the eager weapon master took the bait, sending his blades toward the knee. Yelthium kicked out before the attacks could strike, aiming his steel toed boot toward his opponent's chin. Urenchick had to pull back his attack to save his jaw, but the heel of the boot still struck him on his shoulder, sending him to the ground.  
The drow lay flat on his back as Yelthium spun and jabbed down with his sword. Urenchick was quick and already rolling to the side. Yelthium wasn't stupid and had already compensated with his jab, he had just guessed the wrong direction. The sword stuck deep into the ground just to the right of Urenchick as the drow rolled to the left. The surface elf tried to compensate by slamming the bottom of his shield at the rolling drow, but Urenchick was already somersaulting backwards to a crouched position.  
Before the drow could get set, Yelthium charged him, continuing his vicious attack. This required him to leave his sword stuck in the ground for the time being. Urenchick barely noticed this as the large shield came swinging at him. He put his blades up to try and deflect the blow but still stumbled backwards under the force of the massive weapon. The stumble saved him for the time being as Yelthium kicked up under his swinging shield to catch the drow in the groin, but missed.  
Instead, Yelthium sent his empty hand out to catch the trailing left arm of his opponent. As Urenchick felt the other elf's hand close on his wrist, he finally realized that the moon blade was still stuck in the ground, now some ten feet away. He allowed himself to be pulled back toward the surface elf, knowing what was coming.  
Yelthium pulled with one hand and punched out with the other. For all intents and purposes, Urenchick ran into a wall, the front of the shield catching him full in the face. He took the hit with a grimace, and wrapped his free right arm around the shield, hugging it to his chest. Before Yelthium could try to pull it back, Urenchick freed his left wrist and cut down blindly at the shield arm. Yelthium had two choices: either let go of the shield or lose his arm. He let go.  
Urenchick took a big step back as the shield came free, and he quickly tossed it aside, grinning under his bloody nose. He didn't give his opponent time to contemplate his unarmed position and charged hard with both blades high and chopping down.  
He suddenly stopped. Both blades fell from his hands. He looked down. The moon blade was shoved into his chest up to the hilt. The look of shock on his face lasted only as long as it took for the last wisps of life to leave the drow. As he slowly looked up at his killer, his eyes found the small crease in the arena floor where the blade that was now sheathed in his chest had been just a second before. His eyes met with Yeltium's for only a moment before they closed forever. He died without knowing how he had lost.  
He died without knowing that an elven moon blade is fashioned specifically for its user. The two are linked magically. The way the fire of the blade matched the fire in the elf's eyes should have been a clue, but Urenchick couldn't be expected to pick up on that. The drow couldn't have known that the blade had been forged with the elf's blood. That he was the only being that could hold the sword. That he could summon the blade to his hand with a thought. He died only with the knowledge that hell was not going to be a fun place.  
  
* * *  
  
Drizzt watched the battle with interest, wondering how many of the other fighters saw what he did. The fight had not been about skill. It had been about understanding your opponent. Drow spend their whole life fighting against other drow. They all go to the same academy and are all taught the same fighting techniques. The successful drow are the ones who are stronger or faster than the others. Drizzt was unique in that he invented moves. He refused to follow the recommended style and improvised.  
Urenchick didn't do that. Not only that, but he did not understand who he was fighting. He was not ready for everything. Yelthium had seen this early on and had set the fighter up. The drow do not teach their fighters to think on their feet. They are required to attack with fury and precision. That would not cut it in this tournament.  
While Urenchick's body was being carried out of the arena and given to his sponsor so the glaberzu could do with it as he pleased, the rest of the fighters mingled with some level of agitation. It was always like this after the first battle. It's easy enough to say that only one will survive, and everyone there had been in a battle before with those types of stakes on the line, but before they had always had the advantage. After all, they were the best fighters in the realm. Now each looked around feeling very vulnerable. They got over it by talking.  
"Drizzt Do'Urden." Drizzt turned to see Sir Toreance Willhiem standing behind him, the Thunder Blade propped on the ground. "It is an honor to finally meet you. I have heard of the great many battles you have fought, and I hold you in the highest regard." He bowed slightly.  
"Then if we should meet here, you would yield to me?" Drizzt asked.  
"Huh?" the paladin stood suddenly with a confused look on his face.  
"Deltrophan said that we have the opportunity to refuse a fight once it is scheduled. Would you back down so that I could advance?"  
"I . . .uh . . . I thought that you woul- . . . uh," Toreance didn't know what to say. He turned and walked quickly away.  
Drizzt frowned as he watched the knight depart. He wished he had never agreed to come to this tournament.  
"What's wrong with him?" it was Druia.  
"He is learning a lesson in pride," Drizzt said, turning to regard the young woman. "One I don't think he will live to apply. One that many of the fighters here need to learn."  
"Is this another lecture?" Druia asked, starting to frown.  
Drizzt's eyes locked on her. "Do you feel you need one?" Druia shook her head. "Good, because it looks like you are up next."  
Druia turned around to see one of the mage apprentices standing behind her. "Druianalla?" he asked. She nodded. "Your presence is requested in the arena."  
Druia nodded again, the weight of her situation suddenly dawning on her. She followed the mage as Drizzt looked on forlornly.  
  
* * *  
  
The arena was contained within a 50-foot iron ring with a dirt floor and located in a cavern about four times too large. It was set up to one side with an elevated observation platform carved into the near cave wall. This was where Deltrophan sat. He was positioned about ten feet above the arena floor and about 30 feet away. He had had an eternity to play with the dimensions of this setup, and he had settled on this. He felt the slightly elevated seating gave him a better view, since looking down on the fight meant none of it was ever obscured.  
The other three sides of the arena (though a ring doesn't really have sides) were open and clear of obstruction. The nearest cave wall was slightly less than 70 feet from the ring. The cavern walls had several tunnels leading away. Some went to taverns while others ascended back to the residential quarters in the main house. The ceiling of the cavern was 50 feet from the arena floor. All in all, the cavern gave plenty of room for fighters and sponsors alike to catch an unobstructed view of the action.  
The action was just about to begin.  
Druia took in her surroundings with a thoughtful eye. The dimensions of the cave mattered little for her immediate fight for once inside the arena, it was self contained. She could see the dim outline of the magical dome that surrounded the ring. The spell had been explained in detail by the apprentices before the fight. It allowed two fighters to enter. When that happened, the spell was charged and nothing else would be allowed in or out until one of those fighters was killed.  
Druia watched as her opponent stepped into the ring. It was Wrugib, the ogre. He stood nine feet tall. The spiked ball of his flail was three times the size of Druia's head. He was phase shifter, and Druia wished he would phase out now, for he had stripped down to just a loin cloth for the fight and the muscles combined with the dozens of scars all over his body made for a hideous image. But he wasn't going to phase out. He had been told by the mages that invisibility was strictly prohibited.  
This was Druia's chance to back out. And as Drizzt looked on, he sincerely hoped that she would. She did not. She stepped into the ring appearing unarmed. She reached to her side under the halter she wore and pulled out a short silver shaft. With a twist of her wrist it telescoped to six feet in length. With another actuation of her hand, the dull ends of the rod became pointed. It looked pathetically inadequate for fighting this creature.  
That's what Wrugib was thinking as the ogre walked toward her, swinging his flail from side to side. Druia did not pay him any mind, but composed herself in a meditative stance and half closed her eyes. She remained immobile as the ogre came within striking distance. Wrugib looked around for a moment to make sure this was not some kind of joke and then attacked, swinging his flail up and over to crush the prone female.  
Suddenly, she was gone. The flail smashed to the ground hitting nothing. "Hey," Wrugib protested, "if I'm not aloud to-" but his voice was cut short as he felt a searing pain flash across the back of his knees. He turned and swung with tremendous force, but again the flail flew through empty air. Instead he got another deep gash under his arm.  
In a cry of frustration, and showing more flexibility than someone of his size should have, he dove to the side, rolled into a ball, and came up against the inside of the dome. Druia stood calmly in front of him, her eyes still half closed. Wrugib felt now at his wounds and could see clearly the blood dripping from both ends of her silver pike. "Are you a sprite?"  
She didn't answer but walked slowly toward him. While she couldn't get at his back with the dome in the way, neither could he move much. All the confidence Wrugib had going into the fight was gone, and he realized that size and strength only mattered if you could hit your opponent. He tried again without success.  
Druia was not a blur of motion. It didn't even look like she was moving that fast. But she was never where Wrugib thought she would be. Her movements were just efficient. She did not bob back and forth on the balls of her feet waiting for the moment to dodge. She simply moved when she needed to. Her reactions were instantaneous and it seemed to take no effort.  
Wrugib had nearly ripped apart half of the arena floor with misses before he changed his strategy. He crouched down and swung in a huge sweeping arch. Druia jumped up and seemed to hang there as if gravity had simply forgotten to pay attention for a moment. Her feet were a good five feet off the ground, her body coiled like a spring. Wrugib foolishly stood to regard her at eye level. Her body uncoiled. Her staff was like a sliver disk around her waist slashing out for the ogre's throat.  
Despite her speed, Wrugib did have a fraction of a second to dodge. He used that fraction to ram the back of his head into the dome, forgetting that it curved in as it went up. In addition, he took a vicious cut across his neck. His hands went up to the wound in shock, dropping his weapon and forgetting about Druia. That was his mistake. That and entering the arena in the first place.  
As if gravity had finally noticed that it was being violated, it pulled hard and fast at the suspended female. She came down with her pike leading, driving it down into the ogre's foot and nailing it to the floor. Wrugib's scream was tremendous.  
Druia twisted the pike in the center, detaching it into two spikes and leaving one in the monster's foot. She hopped out of the way as Wrugib's fist came crashing in, and then jumped back to open up his wrist with another swipe.  
He tried to grab her with a back hand, but his movements had become slow, and he was losing a lot of blood. She dodged the grab and ran up his arm to leap onto his chest. He tried to back away, but his foot was still nailed down, and the dome had him trapped from behind.  
Druia looked the creature in the eyes and drove her spike into his throat. He tried to grab her with both arms, but she back-flipped off his chest and stood calmly in front of him, watching as he died. He was slouched up against the dome, one of his feet unable to slide away, so he fell to one side, gurgling blood as his huge hands tried to grab the thin spike. As his life energy faded, he flickered in and out of visibility.  
Ten seconds later, the dome opened, and the ogre's upper body flopped backwards out of the arena. Druia retrieved the spike from his neck and then joined it back with the half that was still in Wrugib's foot. With a twist of her wrist, the weapon telescoped back into a short rod, the blood magically falling off it. She stowed it back under her arm, secured against her side by the tight halter she wore. Without a word to anyone, she walked out of the arena, donned her cloak, and left the cavern.  
  
* * *  
  
Drizzt watched the battle with interest and some awe. When he saw Druia making her way out of the cavern, he started after her. A hand grabbed his arm. He turned to see Enrique. "What do you mean to do?"  
"I want to talk to her."  
"About what?" Enrique had a serious look on his face for about the first time since they had met. "Are you going to congratulate her for not dying yet? Yes, I too was impressed and maybe a bit envious of her abilities. She has gone through some very unique training, but do you think she will beat you? Do you think she could beat me? She will die. One of us will die. This is not the place to make friendships."  
It was sound advice, Drizzt knew, but right now the woman reminded him too much of Catti-brie and he couldn't help having feelings for her. He started off again, but Enrique's hand was still attached to his arm. "Stay; watch the next fight. Don't worry, she won't get drunk." A smile finally broke across his face.  
Drizzt shrugged his shoulders and turned around. Enrique let him go and turned to see the fight as well. The elf maiden with her incredibly long Feather Blade was matched up against the diminutive tiefling. The half-breed danced around, just out of the long reach of the halberd for about 15 seconds before charging in a diving roll. Adenae cut him in half before he got close.  
"Then again," Enrique said, "maybe following her would have been more interesting." He turned to look at Drizzt but saw that the drow was already halfway out of the cavern. Enrique started to follow but one of the apprentices tapped him on the shoulder.  
"Sir Cortez, you're next."  
Enrique frowned at Drizzt as he disappeared into a side tunnel, but then smiled again as he saw his opponent. Drizzt wasn't going to miss much.  
  
* * *  
  
Drizzt walked into the tavern and saw an apprentice behind the bar and Druia sitting by herself at the center table. The rest of the room was empty.  
"Go away," she said as Drizzt approached the table. "I'm not in the mood to talk." She was nursing a mug of ale, and from the fact that the bartender was wiping one down at the moment, he guessed it was already her second in about two minutes.  
"Then I'll talk. You can listen."  
Druia didn't say anything but swirled the amber liquid around in her mug and then downed half of it.  
"You're good," Drizzt started. "You are very good."  
This wasn't what Druia had expected, and she looked up.  
"Your technique is flawless. Your strength is very impressive, and not just for a woman. Your ability to move like you do is extraordinary. Your weapon, though limited, is powerful and you understand its abilities. You are able to improvise on the spot." Drizzt paused. "But you will still lose."  
Druia threw her mug across the room, but was robbed of the satisfying crash when the bartender inacted a telekinetic spell on the projectile just before it hit the wall. Druia pretended not to notice as she stood, tossing her chair back behind her. "Is that what you came her to tell me?! I'm good, but not good enough. I've spent my whole life being looked down upon, and I've spent my whole life proving everyone wrong."  
"Your whole life?" Drizzt repeated. "And what has that been, 20 years?"  
Druia leaned forward over the table, a hand on each edge. "I've seen 22 winters."  
"You are a child," Drizzt replied.  
Druia grabbed the right edge of the table top and heaved it to her left, finally getting the noise she wanted as it smashed a wooden chair. Drizzt didn't move as he sat in his chair with no table in front of him. Druia took a step forward and sent a left-handed hook at his head, Drizzt calmly blocked it, but didn't notice her right foot lashing out low. She kicked the wooden chair leg, splintering it, and sending Drizzt tumbling with his chair.  
The agile drow recovered instantly, rolling to his left and coming up quickly. She sent a right, left, right combination at him, but he dodged, blocked, dodged the punches. Her right foot started to come up in a kick, but his left countered the move, locking ankles with her. She accepted the block, landing forward so their legs were intertwined, and then spun on her right heel.  
Her left leg was bent as it came around, heel leading. Drizzt had no idea how this woman was that coordinated. He bent back, but knew he was in trouble as the bent leg sailed in front of him. It stopped, and the leg uncoiled. Though she wore moccasins, her foot felt like an anvil as it smashed into the side of his face. She released his leg just in time so they both did not snap in half, and he went flying backwards into a collection of chairs.  
Druia slowly untwisted her body, keeping Drizzt in her sights the whole time. Drizzt didn't get up right away. He knew he had just been bested, and he knew why. It had nothing to do with skill. He had underestimated her. As he felt the sting on his face, he looked down to her feet. Despite what his eyes told him, those were not moccasins. He did not know enough about this woman to start making judgments.  
"If I am going to lose," she said, "then you don't have a prayer."  
"Excuse me, miss?" it was the apprentice. At first Drizzt thought he was going to admonish her for tearing up the place, but he didn't. "The battle you asked about will begin in a few moments."  
"Thank you," she said. Before leaving, she walked over to the wall at which she had thrown her mug earlier. It still hung in the air. She snatched it from the spell and drained the rest. Then, looking at Drizzt the whole time, she hurled it again at the wall. With only five feet to travel, the apprentice didn't have a chance.  
Drizzt stayed on the floor, watching the infuriated woman walk quickly out of the bar. She might not lose, he thought, as he prepared to pick himself from the broken chairs. He was offered a hand.  
Drizzt looked up and saw Thelania with her arm outstretched. He took the hand of his sponsor and stood. "Boy, she kicked your butt."  
The drow didn't honor the comment with a reply right away. They both knew that the encounter, like so many things on this island, had nothing to do with skill. "She is good," he finally admitted.  
"Then why do you feel you need to protect her?"  
"She does not belong here."  
The ghaele frowned, something her kind did not do often. "That is easy for you to say. In 250 years you will not look a day older and will still be in your prime, likely twice the fighter you are now. In 250 years she will be a pile of dust somewhere."  
"You really think that is what this is about?" Drizzt asked, his eyes proclaiming that is not at all what he thought. He thought higher beings were supposed to be blessed with exceeding wisdom. "You really think the fighters are here to get eternal life?"  
"Why are you here?" she asked.  
"Don't start that. You know exactly why I am here."  
"Do you know why you are here?"  
Drizzt threw up is arms and turned away. He started to walk away but stopped. "Are you without pride?" she asked his back. "If you have not yet sorted out why you are here, how can you so quickly judge others?" There was the wisdom. Drizzt just stood there, staring at the floor. "Enough of this talk," Thelania finally said. "Come," she walked up behind her fighter, "we have matches to watch." The two of them walked out of the tavern.  
In the corner of the room, up in the rafters, a small invisible voice chuckled to itself, "Interesting." The imp waited for the apprentice who had stayed behind to turn his head, and then winked into visibility only long enough to transport himself out of the tavern.  
  
* * *  
  
Entreri had been watching the fights thus far by himself. He had seen what Drizzt had when the two elves had fought. He smiled to himself when he realized that while they had both been excellent fighters, he would have beaten either of them. Yelthium had fought well and cleverly, but no more so than Entreri had been force to fight growing up in the streets of Calimport. Druia had intrigued him as well. When he saw Drizzt go after her at the conclusion of her fight, he almost tailed them, but when he saw Enrique was the next to fight, he stayed behind.  
Deltrophan also seemed to liven up as Enrique stepped up and into the ring. There was no hesitation from him like there had been with the past fighters. He knew the rules and was willing to fight. Yeltriz too rubbed his hands together in anticipation has he hovered behind his master. He enjoyed watching the flamboyant man fight. Deltrophan had other ideas though.  
The mage pointed off in the distance to where Druia and then Drizzt had left the cavern. "Keep an eye on them for me," he said.  
"Yes, master," the imp replied, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. He popped out of the cavern.  
"You look well," Enrique said as he positioned himself in the ring, "It's nice that you've cleaned up for your funeral." Quinn just grunted at him. Pulling his weapons and stepping into the ring. "Ah, ah, ah," Enrique said, holding up his finger, "proper etiquette is required." He turned toward Deltrophan and dropped to a knee, bowing gracefully. The mage acknowledged the show of respect, and motioned him to stand.  
Enrique's clothes were almost comical given the activity he was about to partake in. He wore dark gray knickers that were gathered just below his knees and tucked into dark blue socks inside black boots. He wore a black vest with gray and blue trim over a white mid-sleeve shirt and a black bolero with a blue feather. It did not appear that he had the tiniest bit of armor on.  
As Entreri looked on, he though there might be a leather vest under the shirt, but he couldn't be sure. He did have two daggers strapped to his side and his ivory handled nunchaku around his waist. He slowly removed his main weapon, the 3-foot chain coming free from the custom clasps that held it in place. He held both handles in one hand and motioned with the other toward the pirate. "Now we may begin."  
Quinn walked in quickly, careful remembering how this fighter had bested him before without ever having drawn a weapon. So this time Enrique came on fast. He walked right up to him, lashing out with the looped chain of the nunchaku he still held in one hand. Quinn brought his right blade up to block it, but Enrique angled the chain up a bit so it caught the blade of the machete in the loop. He tugged down hard, crossing the blade over the other, and then stepped along side him, punching the pirate full in the face with his left hand.  
The move was perfectly fluid, and with Enrique's left arm at shoulder height, the punch coming just as he walked beside him, he put his whole body into. Quinn left his feet, blood flying from his crushed nose, and he hit the ground flat on his back, knocking the wind from him.  
Enrique did not attack the prone fighter, for he could have easily finished him right there. But that was the point. He could finish him. He could kill him at any time he wanted. He didn't need an opening or a window. He didn't need to trick his opponent or devise a ruse. He could just beat him. Whenever.  
Quinn got up slowly, his eyes coming back into focus slowly. He had actually lost consciousness for a second or two. He struggled to a knee, still trying to remember where he was. He looked off into the crowd of fighters watching him and remembered suddenly. He sprang up, pain shooting through his temples and nose, but he ignored it for now. He spun around and saw Enrique waiting patiently for him.  
The superior fighter stood placidly, an ivory handle in each hand. He altered his grip slightly and a foot and a half blade sprang from the end of each of the nunchaku. "Now, let's fight."  
Quinn stormed forward, slashing and hacking as he did. Enrique met the charge, his blades intercepting the attacks perfectly. The only limitation Enrique had was that the bottoms of his weapons were tied together with a chain. Quinn tried to exploit this by spreading apart his attacks apart, but Enrique still seemed to be able to block everything.  
Then for show, Enrique let go of one of his handles, letting it swing free from the other end. He went on the offensive suddenly, attacking normally with his held weapon, and letting the other one swing in at exceedingly odd angles. The harder Quinn blocked the swinging blade the harder it swung around and attacked him from a different angle. Plus, Enrique pulled a dagger with a 9-inch blade and began attacking with his other hand.  
Quinn tried to slap away three attacks at once, but couldn't keep up. Enrique's dagger made short work of the pirate, slashing at each wrist, and within two seconds, both his machetes were on the ground. The swinging blade sailed toward his head, but he dodged to the side. Enrique hadn't meant to hit him with the blade, instead, he altered the angle and the chain hit the pirate in the neck, wrapping two loops around it. Enrique tugged hard and then punched out with his right hand, the one that held the remaining numb chuck.  
Quinn stumbled forward and was skewered on the blade. Enrique let go and stepped back as the pirate stumbled away, wearing his macabre necklace. He stayed standing for only a few seconds, and then fell dead.  
Enrique calmly retrieved his weapon, wiped it clean on his victim, and stowed it back on his person. He then pulled out a small handkerchief from his back pants pocket, cleaned of the little blood that had gotten on his hands from his initial punch, and laid it neatly over the dead man's face. Finally he removed a black rose from his vest and placed it on the pirate's chest.  
Enrique turned and bowed once more toward Deltrophan, and left the arena. Entreri watched with interest. There was a reason this man was the returning champion. Motion on the horizon caught his attention, and he saw Druia returning to the cavern. Shortly there after, Drizzt emerged from the tunnel. Entreri wanted to go and tell them what they had missed, but an apprentice tapped him on the shoulder.  
"Artemis Entreri, you're next." 


	8. The Ballad of the Immortal Fighter

Chapter 7  
The Ballad of the Immortal Fighter  
  
Entreri stood motionlessly inside the ring. He looked at his opponent, Xorian Rockbottom, a Dwarf wielding two short axes. The dwarf was taller than most, almost five feet tall, and his stubby hands twirled the axes is an impressive display. Along with his dexterity, it was obvious to all that he was built like . . . well . . . he was built like a dwarf.  
Entreri had fought against few dwarves. He had run into some druegar in the underdark, and he had fought some of Bruenor's soldiers when he had kidnapped Catti-brie in his hunt for Regis, but none of those battles had been fair. He had always struck from the shadows against an unprepared and untrained foe.  
Dwarves were unique among the stronger races in that they lacked none of the speed or quickness that size usually takes away. Ogres, giants and even barbarians though very strong, are often lumbering clods. Dwarves, are not.  
Still, Entreri felt confident he could handle this enemy. He just wondered how he should do it. He glanced about at the audience. His eyes first found Deltrophan. The mage was not hard to read. He obvious preferred humans, or at least races that closely resembled humans, and enjoyed the flamboyant fighting style. After all, this was for entertainment. Someone who could twirl and slash was far more entertaining than someone who simply crushed his opponents. For that reason, Entreri wondered if he shouldn't play this fight up, hoping to win the mage's favor and perhaps receive an easier fighting schedule. Or, the assassin thought, that might just schedule him to fight Enrique next.  
Entreri found the human fighter in the crowd, not surprisingly talking with Drizzt. The two of them were whispering amongst each other. Entreri wondered if he should cater to Drizzt's wants in this fight. The drow did not like to play with death. He would want this fight as over as quickly as possible. And while Entreri appreciated efficiency as well, there were several factors to consider here.  
Then the assassin spotted the sponsors. Raichik, the balor who had sent Entreri to this tournament had been fairly absent since he had arrived. Now the demon was eager to see how his fighter stacked up to the rest. Likewise too the dwarf's sponsor, a smoldering stocky figure with an emotionless face (an azer, if Entreri could trust his memory of such things), had let his fighter be but now wished to see how he stacked up.  
If it was a forgone conclusion that Entreri would win, as most present thought, someone forgot to tell the dwarf. Xorian did not charge wildly as many of his kin were known for. He had seen too many fighters fail with that strategy already in this tournament. But neither did the dwarf sit back and patiently wait for Entreri to attack. He walked in quickly, swinging his wide axe heads into a blurry steel shield.  
Entreri sidestepped the fighter a few times, cautiously taking stock of his style. The axes were not twins. The right was doubled bladed, but the left had a blunted hammer opposite its cutting edge. It was therefore heavier and less nimble while the right axe was perfectly balanced and struck with more speed.  
Xorian bided his time, waving his blades in front of him making sure Entreri was not given an opening and tensing his powerful legs for a lunge. The assassin beat him to it. Entreri struck first, not with an attack, but with a block, catching the underside of the right axe with his dirk. Xorian pulled hard on the block, and Entreri yielded easily, pirouetting with the block and dropping into a crouch to stab the dirk low. This was belt-high for the dwarf, and with his right axe out wide, his left came in to bash the strike even lower. Entreri punched out above the block with his dagger.  
The move, as simple as it was, should have defeated just about anyone else. He had gotten the dwarf leaning in with one weapon out wide and one down low. The dagger was going straight for the dwarf's face. Xorian cocked his head back and then lunged forward to meet the thrust. Entreri was confused until the bearded face turned at the last second, and the dwarf bit at the human's hand.  
Entreri pulled his hand back quickly, but not before the hungry dwarf had drawn blood. The assassin had no time to think about this odd defense before the right axe finally came back into play, aimed at Entreri's neck. Already in a crouch, he was forced to fall to his back.  
The dwarf was over him quickly, but Entreri batted both attacks wide and kicked up between them with both heels. He caught the dwarf in the chest and chin, and despite the stocky fighter's bulk, he was now thrown to his back.  
Both opponents were up quickly, and the next 30 seconds was a flurry of steal. Entreri's blocks tried mainly to deflect the onslaught, for the dwarf was far stronger than he was. His attacks were few and carefully aimed at the dwarf's hands and arms, forcing Xorian to adjust his stance to block them.  
Entreri played with the idea of tricks and ruses to win this battle, but decided against it. The dwarf was formidable, and it would be far more impressive to those watching (he was doing this for entertainment, after all) to beat him straight up.  
Xorian was grunting already, not used to someone capable of absorbing the speed and power he was putting out. Entreri seemed to be blocking his attacks almost nonchalantly. Then the assassin picked up the pace. His blades began to intercept the attacking axes at the beginning of their swings, before the dwarf could put any momentum behind them. His arms were being pushed back into his body, limiting his range of motion. He was forced to take a step back. Then Entreri exploded.  
The transformation from defense to offense was so intense, that Xorian knew if he could just attempt an attack, Entreri would be hopeless to defend against it. The only problem was that if the dwarf had done anything with his weapons other than wave them frantically in front of him, he would have been hit half a dozen times before he could even pick a place on the assassin to attack.  
The dirk and dagger worked over each other, attacking the same spots from different angles, and the dwarf was constantly crossing himself up, the two axe heads banging into each other more often than not. The dirk went low toward Xorian's groin, and he sent his right axe down to block it. Then the dagger followed toward the opposite thigh and the left axe came up to ward it off. Entreri pulled the attack short though, as he watched the axes smack each other once again. He instead thrust the dagger high again.  
Predictably, the dwarf tried to bite him, and predictably, Entreri did not fall for the same trick twice. He thrust out, and then slashed back just as the dwarf's face was coming back in with his teeth bared. Entreri made him smile from ear to ear, literally.  
Xorian screamed in pain, but managed to hold on to his weapons, even getting them up to cover his vulnerable neck, as he threw his head back in pain. Entreri's dirk bounced off the blocking axes, but his dagger now went low into the dwarf's protruding belly.  
The axes came down in a hurry as the dwarf straightened in pain. Entreri left the dagger in place, pulling his arm back just in time to keep it attached and sent his dirk back on the mission from which it had just been foiled. The blade found the dwarf's exposed neck and bit in hard. This time Xorian did drop his axes. They landed gently on the dirt ground. Xorian fell next to them a moment later, somewhat less gently.  
  
* * *  
  
Enrique turned to Drizzt as the dwarf hit the dirt. "Standard fight?" He wished to know of Entreri's skill.  
Drizzt shrugged. "I've only paid attention to that one when we fight each other. Then the fights last much longer, and the outcome usually has little to do with skill."  
"And what do the outcomes depend on?" the champion asked.  
"Motivation, desire, distractions, luck. It is not something I have given a great deal of thought to and not something I wish to repeat soon."  
"Ah," Enrique smiled, "but you will repeat it, won't you?" Drizzt turned to look at him. He continued. "Our host is not blind to natural rivalries, and unless you see someone that can beat Entreri or beat you before you two meet, I would say that we will get to see the final outcome. Maybe this time it will be decided by skill." Enrique looked around at the assembled fighters and frowned. "Though I would care to wager few of us will be left to see it."  
  
* * *  
  
There was to be one more fight before Deltrophan called an end to the first round. Five fighters had still not stepped into the ring, meaning three would not be fighting until later. Sir Toreance Willhiem was not one of the three. He stepped up proudly into the ring, one of the few fighters decked out in full armor. He opted out of wearing a helm though, not wanting to obscure his vision and wanting his golden hair to fly freely as he fought. He was very concerned about his image. His opponent was not.  
Gunthor, under the complete control of Styne, stepped up into the ring and assumed his ready stance. Styne watched while leaning up against the cave wall, directly below Deltrophan's viewing plateau, essentially out of sight from the powerful mage. He was worried about this fight. He had been hoping for the ogre, thinking Deltrophan would have pitted the two biggest fighters against each other. But Druia had disposed of the ogre. The problem was that this knight was too nimble. And while Styne knew that fighting Entreri or Enrique would prove equally challenging, those fighters were also much smaller and would have an equally hard time injuring Gunthor.  
Styne was also worried about the Thunder Blade. It was easily the largest weapon at the tournament. Each of these fighters had spent their entire lives perfecting their styles and equipment. Their weapons had been stolen from dragon's treasures or recovered from ancient tombs or forged by the best craftsmen in the realms. Styne had not had that luxury. He had hired a blacksmith to build Gunthor's axe, and then had a priest of Tempest place a blessing on it. He only hoped it would stand up.  
Against Drizzt's scimitars or Enrique's nunchaku, the axe would have, but the Thunder Blade was another story.  
Styne put Gunthor through a slight warm-up routine, much more for mage than for the golem. Toreance appreciated the display from a distance as Gunthor twirled the two-handed axe in front, under an arm, around his back, and over his head. The knight finally pulled his sword and did the same. This brought a few nervous gulps from several of the fighters who now prayed for the knight's defeat.  
The two walked toward each other and engaged. Styne wasted no time launching his attack. Gunthor swung the axe around his back and over his right shoulder to gain momentum, and then brought it crashing in from the right. The blow could have felled any tree on the island. Toreance took a step back to save his legs, and swung his own weapon to meet the attack, angling his blade at the last second so it caught the shaft of the weapon, just under the axe head.  
The shaft sheared in two. The axe head went flying toward the edge of the ring with such force, that the whole magical dome shuddered under the impact. Styne regretted not having practiced a dumb-founded expression for his golem, for he needed one now.  
Toreance had practiced an over-confident gloating look. So, apparently, had his sponsor. Lady Alustriel had found a battle hungry avenger archon named Balrieth to sponsor the barbarian knight. The archon glowered toward Errtu, and the tanar'ri had no adequate response. He wanted to in turn glower at Styne, but he knew he shouldn't. He actually wanted to eat Styne about right now, but held his anger in check . . . for now.  
Back in the ring, Styne was quickly inventing dodging moves, something else he had not practiced. He never assumed he would be without a weapon. As large as he was, Gunthor proved to be very nimble, and Styne thanked Garem repeatedly as the Thunder Blade whisked just over the golem's head or just in front of his chest.  
Styne did realize though, that he couldn't dodge forever, just hoping that Toreance would tire. Plus, the paladin was not using any technique in his attacks, not thinking he needed any against an unarmed opponent. Soon, he would stop wildly hacking, and Gunthor would not be able to dodge organized attacks.  
The battle mage decided to change strategies first. Styne had Gunthor back up again as if he were dodging. Toreance compensated by stepping further into his swing to increase the arc. Gunthor instead, stepped closer swinging his arm up under the swipe, the heel of his palm driving into the flat of the blade. The Thunder Blade rotated under the impact, such that the flat of the sword now collided with Gunthor's upper arm.  
A small line of blood came from Gunthor's arm, an effect that Styne had added at the last minute before coming to the tournament, but it was not a serious injury. Though, Gunthor had stepped inside the swing of the massive weapon, he was still four feet from Toreance. Before the huge golem could get within arms length, the knight started to step back. Gunthor didn't let him. He grabbed onto the blade.  
Toreance was wearing gauntlets of heavy lifting, allowing him to heft his sword around with ease. He could lift close to a thousand pounds with those gloves. He should have been able to wrestle it away from Gunthor. He couldn't. His first problem was that he pulled straight ahead, thinking he could slice off a few fingers in the process. The gloves didn't help him then because they only aided against gravity. Gunthor held tight. The golem had both hands on the blade now, the fake blood slowly dripping from his grip not in any way lubricating his hold. If anything, the deeper the blade dug into his hands, the tighter he held on.  
Toreance tried to lift instead. Now the gloves helped, but it was still a futile effort. The blade weighed close to 200 pounds and Gunthor weighed 400, but with all of the golem's weight on the end of the blade, the leverage was all wrong.  
Now Gunthor began to pull. Styne had practiced an evil grin for his magical fighter, and as Toreance tried to brace the heels of his boots against the dirt arena floor, a sickening smile spread over Gunthor's face. Toreance refused to let go of his prized weapon. He tried to swing it back and forth. He tried to twist it around, but it was like trying to wrestle a nail head out of the wall with your fingers. Gunthor began to real him in.  
Hand over hand like he was pulling in a fishing net, the golem dragged the stubborn knight toward his doom. Toreance tried to time his jerks on the sword for when Gunthor only had one hand on the blade, but the golem's strength was not dependant on muscles, but on magic. The magic could work just as well through one hand as it could two.  
Soon the two were face to face, about a foot apart. Gunthor had one hand on the blade, just above the hilt while Toreance still tugged desperately on the pommel. Soon he stopped struggling and looked up into the face of his opponent. Gunthor's smile grew bigger, and he punched the knight in the head with his free hand.  
To Toreance's credit, he didn't fall down. His grip on his sword, though, to say nothing of his own name, was completely forgotten as he stumbled backwards. As Enrique looked on, he thought he could actually see little canaries flying around the stunned knight's head.  
Gunthor, meanwhile, slowly turned his new weapon around and gripped the pommel instead. He raised the weapon over his right shoulder and paused a moment to regard the stupefied paladin. It almost looked like the golem shrugged his shoulders in indifference and then swung. A moment later, Sir Toreance Willhiem was half as tall as he had been when he had stepped into the ring.  
Drizzt and Entreri both turned to Enrique at the same time with the same question on their minds. Enrique knew what it was and spoke up before they could ask. "It was perfectly legal." He pulled out the dagger he had used in his fight. "I got this off someone I beat in the last tournament. Best blade I've ever had."  
Styne apparently knew the rules as well. He had Gunthor bend over the dead paladin and removed the sheath from his back, strapping it on to his own. Styne regarded the gauntlets the knight wore, sensing clearly that they were how he had been able to wield the blade, but decided against it. It would be nice for keeping up appearances, but the gloves wouldn't work for the golem. They wouldn't fit either.  
Deltrophan stood from his chair, satisfied with the tournament so far. He didn't like the brutish style fighter, but he also saw in Gunthor an unbeatable foe and it would be interesting to see how the rest of the fighters would deal with him.  
"Those of you who have survived the first round, congratulations," the mage said, pausing only momentarily to make sure he had everyone's attention. "Those of you who did not fight, don't worry, you will get your chance, if you still have the stomach for it. You may do what ever you like between now and the next round. The next round will begin precisely at sunset." With a silly grin on his face, Deltrophan stepped through a magical doorway, and disappeared.  
  
* * *  
  
"How are you going to beat him?"  
The question had been on Entreri's mind ever since he had watched Toreance cleaved in two. Gunthor was as nimble as anyone and now with the Thunder Blade, he didn't know how anyone could get close enough to him to inflict any damage, not that a weapon could.  
"I asked you a question assassin."  
Entreri turned to the speaker with venom in his eyes, but kept his tongue in check. He was laughed at. Raichik did not fit well into Entreri's room for the human did not warrant a large room like Gunthor did, but he managed. "You can not beat him. Admit it."  
"Then why didn't you ask him to come here for you instead of me?" Entreri responded finally. "You picked me from all the fighters in the realm because you knew of my skill. You know I have beaten larger adversaries in the past. I will deal successfully with this one when the time comes."  
Entreri turned away from the balor and moved to his door, the balor followed. "You do not even believe what you are saying. You know you can not beat him."  
Entreri stopped short and the balor almost ran into him. The assassin turned, trying not to be unnerved by the hideous creature so close to him. "Is this your idea of a pep talk? Let me handle the fighting. You just do . . . whatever it is you do."  
He turned again and opened the door. Drizzt was outside, leaning casually against the opposite wall of the corridor. "Consulting with your demon after a successful kill?" Drizzt ask, giving full indication of the mood he was in.  
Entreri did not feel like he needed to justify his position with his most hated rival, but he did anyway. "You know how this tournament works, I have no affiliation with this beast. I care not what happens to him after I am done here."  
Raichik was to big to fit through the normal sized doorway in which Entreri stood, but stooped low enough to look over Entreri's shoulder. "Leave us drow."  
"Would you like me to kill him?" Drizzt asked, his fingers playing with the hilt of Icingdeath, his frost scimitar.  
"Please," Raichik responded sarcastically. "You would not risk the wrath of Deltrophan, you heard what he said about interaction between fighter's and competing sponsors."  
"He would not kill me," Drizzt replied. "I have not fought yet."  
"You can not even enter this room," Raichik growled back. He stood and Drizzt could no longer see his face. "You mortals care nothing about rules. As one banished from the physical realm, I must live with them always." Though the drow could not see his face, he watched as Raichik's claws gestured as he talked. He obviously had strong opinions on this subject. "You petty fighters think you are indestructible and can just kill anything that walks. It doesn't work that-"  
Entreri and Drizzt made eye contact. Though there was no similarities between them other than their skill with a blade. They often did share common desires. That desire was communicated perfectly through a look. Entreri locked eyes with the drow and then glanced down at Icingdeath.  
With Raichik standing, he could not see what Drizzt did. The drow unsheathed his scimitar and tossed it across the hall. Entreri caught it and stabbed back and up.  
"-way at all. You need to understand that the forces at work here are not-" His litany finally ceased as the frost blade sunk deep into his chest. He tried to scream, but the numbing sensation was too much, the air in his lungs frosting over. He tried to pull away, but Entreri quickly jabbed his dagger into the balor's thigh, creating an energy feedback loop that crackled as it sucked the life from the demon. Raichik didn't even manage to get a curse out as he fell backwards, crashing into Entreri's furniture, dead before the broken wood settled.  
Drizzt walked up to the door and leaned against the magical barrier. "Nice work I must say."  
"I rather liked it," Entreri agreed, walking over to his dead sponsor and pulling the blade free. "Not a bad weapon either."  
"Yes," Drizzt agreed, catching it as Entreri tossed it back. "I rather like it."  
They both looked at the dead balor. Its normally red skin was frosty blue. "I suppose there is going to be hell to pay for this," Entreri said.  
Drizzt nodded. "Let's just hope not literally."  
  
* * *  
  
Deltrophan was standing in front of his mirror, bare to the waist, and flexing. His arms were toothpicks and his chest a hallow cavity, but he tried to puff it up as much as possible as he held an imaginary sword. "And now I shall cut you in half . . . punk." He went through the motions of a swing, and then stopped as he saw Yeltriz's reflection in the mirror, hovering behind him.  
The mage quickly dropped his charade and cleared his throat. "You should learn to knock first," he said as he reached for his robe.  
"On what, master?"  
Deltrophan started to motion with his hand, but stopped. "How many times have we had this conversation?"  
The imp pulled out a parchment and looked it over. "Two hundred seventy-three thousand four hundred six," he said after a few moments.  
"And how many times have I asked you how many times we have had this conversation?"  
Yeltriz looked a bit further. "Eighty-nine thousand nine hundred twenty-nine times."  
The mage sighed. "So why do you still pop in on me?"  
Yeltriz shrugged his shoulders. "I am an imp, master. It is my nature to be annoying."  
"And how many times have you told me that?"  
A little further on the parchment. "Sixteen thousand eighty-one."  
Deltrophan tied his robe and sat in his chair. "So what do you have to tell me?"  
"We have a problem."  
  
* * *  
  
Drizzt and Entreri stood before the mage, their arms held casually away from their weapons. Deltrophan sat on the throne like chair in his study. He regarded the two fighters carefully. He already knew, no matter how they answered his questions that he wasn't going to kill them. The fighters he punished either had to break a golden rule or not have much potential for entertainment. These two along with Enrique, were probably the best fighters at the tournament, and he wasn't going to get rid of them. But he couldn't let them know that.  
"So you killed your sponsor?" he finally asked.  
Entreri bowed slightly. "Yes. He was annoying me and you said we could interact with our own sponsors in any way we chose."  
Deltrophan wished Yeltriz was there to hear what some people did to annoying demons, but he had sent the imp out to keep an eye on the rest of the fighters. He turned to Drizzt. "But he used your weapon?"  
Drizzt nodded. "I gave him the weapon, but I did not know what he intended to do with it. I merely thought he was interested in the design."  
"Do you have any idea how good I am at detecting lies?" the mage questioned.  
Drizzt bowed in apology. "Likely much better than I am at telling them, your magnificence."  
Deltrophan stood from his chair. "You two are treating this like it is a joke, aren't you?"  
Drizzt and Entreri looked at each other briefly before responding in unison. "Yes."  
For being the most powerful human alive, Deltrophan didn't get much respect. "I have become too predictable in my old age," he muttered to himself. "I'm not going to punish you, other than one of you will die in this tournament. But you both knew that when you walked into this room. If you should win," he looked at Entreri, "the sponsor of the fighter you defeat in your final battle will receive the honor Raichik can no longer have."  
"You have judged wisely and fairly," Entreri replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  
"Get out of my sight," the mage commanded, and the two fighters complied. "I hope Enrique kills them both," he said once they were gone.  
  
* * *  
  
When Drizzt and Entreri walked into the tavern, there were five fighters inside. Every remaining fighter was represented except Gunthor and Lynn Shallarock. Druia and Enrique were sitting at the same table. The two remaining elves, Adenae and Yelthium sat together, and the black knight, Roland Rexedia sat alone. As far as anyone knew, the black clad warrior had not yet said a word to anyone. He, Drizzt, and the vampire were the three fighters not chosen to fight in the first round, so there must be something special about him, but no one knew.  
Drizzt and Entreri each ordered an ale and sat with Druia and Enrique. "You're a little late," Druia pointed out, seeing something secretive in the two rivals' eyes.  
"Maybe you are just early?" Drizzt responded with a smile, not about to give anything away.  
Druia looked around at the rest of the tavern population. "Then we are all early. Or maybe we should take a vote."  
"Would you two quit your babbling," Enrique finally said. "Some of us would rather listen to something else."  
They all turned to see what the human was talking about. There was a small stage in the corner of the tavern and a woman was walking up the short steps. She was dressed in a loose gown, her figure a mystery. Her face was angular and elegant, her eyes green. There was nothing that drew your attention toward her, but somehow, once it finally got there, it stayed.  
Her name was Arvarian. Enrique had asked about her during the first dinner they had all had together. She sat down on a stool, and as the wooden leg made a small scraping noise, the other three fighters who had not noticed her, suddenly turned to look. Even Roland picked his head up out of his ale and paid attention.  
Her voice was like an angel. She had no accompaniment, and her audience was glad, for it let her voice ring clear an unhindered. The seven fighters in the room were there to kill each other but somehow all that disappeared as they listen to her words of love and loss.  
  
"Through the valleys and hills,  
His ties he will sever,  
Through his sickness and ills,  
He will wander forever.  
  
"All in search of a name,  
Fighting for lost belief,  
Seeking fortune and fame,  
He will find no relief."  
  
"Through toil and trouble,  
Without hope from above,  
His foes left in rubble,  
He will never find love."  
  
Every fighter present felt like she was singing directly to them. "He will wander forever. He will find no relief. He will never find love." How many of their lives could be summed up that way? Even Drizzt, whose efforts over his life could be considered to be the most noble of those present wondered if his life suddenly had any point. How many ties had he severed? How many beliefs had he lost? What sort of hope did he really have? Was he making a difference?  
  
"He is weathered and pale,  
Turning flesh to a husk,  
Winds of fate fill his sail  
Finding the shores of dusk.  
  
"Only after the fight,  
Will the agony cease.  
When the day turns to night,  
And he falls to his knees,  
When his pride takes to flight,  
And his boasts turn to, 'Please,'  
All his wrongs become right,  
Then he truly finds peace."  
  
The last verse hung in the air. Her melodious voice continuing wordlessly with the song, for nothing else needed to be said. The rise and fall of her pitch seemed to shake the sturdiest spine in the room. Tears that could later be denied splashed into drinks, symbolically drowning their grief in alcohol, for the sobriety spell in place did not allow them to do likewise.  
Arvarian continued on wordlessly with her melody for several minutes, though on this eternal island, it felt much longer. She stood when she was finished, for there could be no encore to her performance that would have any more impact than what she had already made.  
No one spoke for an hour. And then, no one continued to speak. Drizzt looked to Enrique, realizing why he had asked about this singer. If the title of that song was not, "The Ballad of the Immortal Fighter," then it was improperly named. Drizzt did not so much sympathize with what this fighter had gone through in his last two and a half centuries, but wondered instead what was in store for him.  
Surface elves did not live their lives in battle. They relaxed in their woodland homes, seeking enlightenment and finding love. They went on crusades, but with 800 years of life ahead of them, they could not afford to fill it with bloodshed. What was Drizzt to do with his life, assuming he made it off this island with it intact?  
While no one else in the room (the other two elves were already past middle age) had that type of natural life ahead of them, they all had the potential for eternal life, and now they wondered if they really wanted it. The true beauty of a sunset is that the next day there would be another just like it. The true horror of a battle, is that the next day or week or month, there would be a thousand more just like it.  
Everyone left the tavern quietly, retiring to their rooms and preparing for the next round. 


	9. Round Two

Chapter 8  
Round Two  
  
Drizzt sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. His scimitars were lying on the floor in front of him absorbing his depressed stare.  
"The song was not about you," it was Thelania. "You will find peace before your death."  
"Then I better find it quickly," Drizzt replied without looking up. "The next round will start shortly."  
The ghaele sat down next to the drow. "You will not die in the next round." Drizzt looked up at her with confusion. She smiled at him, and his mood was instantly improved. It was probably the result of a spell, but for once Drizzt didn't mind that someone was playing with his emotions.  
"How do you know?"  
"I know things. Like back when you arrived I knew about your run in with the ogre. I do not know who will die or who will fight, but I know you will not die. I can not guarantee anything for the rest of the tournament, but your life is not in immediate danger. You will still have time to find peace."  
Drizzt looked back at the floor, his scimitars glinting in the candle lit room. "How? How can I find peace when my whole existence is based on bloodshed? All of my great achievements have come about because of my skill with weapons. Will I ever know simple pleasures? The joy of being a father? The knowledge of an intimate friend? A lover? I am just as out of place on the surface as I am back in the underdark. I will never find a true home." He looked up at Thelania. "The song has to be about me. How else can I find peace apart from death?"  
"Then pick up those blades and end your life," she replied.  
Drizzt looked back at the weapons, not tempted in the slightest. The ghaele could read his thoughts. "If you are not tempted, then there must be something worth living for. Your father found peace." She suddenly had Drizzt's complete attention. "And it was not in his death. If anything, the time after his death, when he was forced to hunt you down, that was the least peace he had ever known. But when he saw your true nature, when you told him that the elf child still lived during your last fight, when he embraced you with tears in his eyes, that was when he found peace. That's when all the pain and suffering and despair in his life was suddenly worth it. He gave himself for you. He found peace before he died. So will you."  
Drizzt had nothing to say. Thelania let him absorb those ideas for a few moments before speaking. "Now you have some fights to watch. I still have a few bets on you." She smiled.  
Drizzt returned the facial expression and picked up his weapons. He could make it through this time of battle. He had a long life, and for the first time, he was finally confident that his fighting would not encompass all of it.  
  
* * *  
  
Entreri walked up to Roland Rexedia, eying up the black knight carefully. He stood stoically in the vast cavern that housed the arena. So far he hadn't said a word since arriving on the island, save when he had to answer the questions required upon entry. He was a little over six feet and looked big, but with the black scale armor he wore, it was hard to tell. He had a red scale shield and a dragon tooth axe. Entreri didn't know a lot about dragons, but it was obvious from the black armor and red shield that Roland had killed two dragons. Entreri wouldn't be surprised to find out that the axe was made from a third. He was obviously a formidable fighter.  
"I hope you are ready," Entreri said, making sure the edgy fighter saw him before he spoke. Roland turned to regard him casually. "Getting a bye like that in the first round must mean you are thought of pretty highly." Still no response. "Do you need a mage to help translate for you as well?" Roland didn't justify the retort and just turned back to look at the arena. The first fight was about to begin.  
Yelthium Oleander held his moon blade tightly and secured the straps on his shield. He wasn't going to give up his hold on it so easily this time. He was pretty sure he was going to need it. He looked across the ring into the eyes of his opponent. Lynn Shallarock looked back and smiled at him. The vampire pulled her whip out and casually waved it in front of her. At the end of the whip, five barbed chains chinked together like wind chimes.  
She had removed her cloak for the fight, and despite the widespread cliché about female vampires, she had apparently left her black leather at home. She looked more like a dessert gypsy, though her colors were a bit on the dark side. She wore loose, dark blue, cotton pants tucked into boots, and a red and blue tunic, open down the front over a tight, low cut shirt. She would have looked very attractive with her hair tied back, if it wasn't for the fact that she had this bad habit of hissing through fanged teeth.  
Off to the side of the arena, opposite of where the other fighters were standing, the two sponsors looked on. Yelthium's sponsor, an imposing planatar with a broadsword that rivaled the Thunder Blade, watched nervously. He dare not turn his eyes to his left where the other sponsor stood. Garnaax was easily the smallest sponsor here, and apart from Adenae, the elf maiden, he was the smallest person here period. But the demilich had a way of chilling even the sturdiest fighter to the bone. Unlike many undead, he wore nice clothing and was draped in a colorful robe. His head was bald, his eyes black. And right now, he was smiling.  
Lynn didn't so much charge the elf as much as she sauntered up to him. She had a long range weapon, and had no intention of getting too close to her opponent. She flailed the whip in front of her as she approached, but like clever archers on the battle field, Yelthium could tell she was hiding her weapon's true range. As proof, the vampire lashed out when she was still eight feet way. She stepped forward, her arm extended, and her whip struck. Yelthium was ready, and swept his shield in front of him from right to left, clearing the area between them of snapping chains. He was still six feet away, and stepped into the clearing with his sword stabbing forward.  
Lynn had more than enough time to back away, angling her retreat to her right and the elf's left. The animated whip didn't cater to gravity much, and continued to scrap against the shield. Yelthium could feel the barbs start to creep around the edge of his shield, and before they dug into his arm, he stepped back and hacked down at the whip with his blade.  
The chains snapped back and then lashed out at the elf's right side. His moon blade came back hard, and the whip retreated again. Yelthium felt like he was trying to hack at a ghost in the wind, and changed his strategy. As the whip went back, he followed with his shield raised. He swept it to the side again, and stabbed toward the vampire. She wasn't there.  
A shadow at the elf's feet told him where she was, and he ran forward as the vampire landed behind him, lashing out at his back. He turned and rolled, keeping the shield between him and his elusive enemy. The whip played a cadence on the shield until the elf moved far enough away.  
Yelthium stood slowly, wondering how he was supposed to get close enough to strike. The whip was far too nimble and quick for him to avoid. He decided to let her attack, and he would have to work in between the strikes. If he could get inside the whip's range, Lynn wasn't holding a melee weapon, and he should have the upper hand.  
The vampire struck again. Yelthium offered his sword to block this strike, thinking he could spin forward to his left, keeping his shield between them and then ending the spin with a backhanded swipe. He didn't get the chance. The chains on the whip accepted the blocking blade eagerly and latched on.  
The blue glow of the blade began to dim, and Yelthium's body became rigid as the two engaged in a brief tug of war. The enchantment of the blade was linked to his life energy and using the weapons as conduits, the vampire began to suck. The light in the elf's eyes began to flicker, his knees growing week. From his raised platform, Deltrophan stood quickly, suspecting foul play. Lynn had her back to the mage, but Garnaax sent her a mental warning that she was playing with fire.  
The chain released its hold on the blade after only five seconds, but the damage had been done. The whip came back and snapped out again. Yelthium brought his shield up, but the move was slow and Lynn scored a hit on his left shoulder. The barb dug in like a viper, and the elf's whole arm went numb momentarily.  
The vampire stepped into her strike and spun a kick toward the loosely held shield. Her heel hit the back side, crunching Ylethium's fingers, but the tightened straps of the shield kept it on his arm. The elf swung his sword down at the vampire, now that she was finally within range, but she wore forearm bracers, and blocked the blow easily. The whip then struck at his exposed chest, and two of the five chains found their way around the elven warrior's chainmail.  
He stood stunned as his life was drained away until Lynn kicked her boot into his head, sending him stumbling backwards away from the whip. She pulled it back and then sent it toward his feet. The lively chains grabbed hold of his boots, and the vampire yanked hard, removing one of the boots and sending the elf to the ground.  
"Kill him!"  
Lynn paused for a moment, wondering who was cheering her on. She smiled in pleasant surprise as she found the heckler. Drizzt walked to the front of the gathering with hatred on his face. "Stop playing with him and kill him."  
She gave him a toothy grin and Drizzt drew his weapons. Each of the apprentices in the cave came to alert, ready to strike down the upstart drow should he try anything. He didn't charge though. The domed shield was in place and kept everything out as well as in. Instead he just glared at the woman, Twinkle glowing angrily, almost daring the vampire to try and suck its energy.  
"I'm afraid you will have to wait your turn Do'Urdden." She turned back to Yelthium who had struggled to a knee. He felt like he had just run 30 miles in 100 degree heat. He had no energy left. Still, he saw the vampire walking quickly toward him and suddenly plant her left foot to kick again with her right. He waved his blade in front of him to ward off the kick, but Lynn just held her leg in check until the blade was past. Then she lashed out. Her vampire strength sent him flying backwards as her toe connected under his chin. His sword flew out of his hand, landing a dozen feet away.  
"Finish it already!"  
Now several of the apprentices leveled their staffs at Drizzt, ready to cast multiple hold spells if necessary. Lynn also paid the drow mind, pointing her whip at him as if it too was a staff. The chains almost seemed to snarl at him as they wove amongst themselves. "I've always been taught to eat my meals slowly. I don't want to get indigestion."  
Drizzt started to charge up the steps, shield or no shield, but he finally noticed the apprentices around the room, each ready to cast, and he held his anger in check.  
Lynn saw that he was done for now, and she too was suddenly tired of this game. She walked over to Yelthium who was still lying flat on his back. He made an effort to cover himself with his shield, but the whip came in, easily circumventing the block and ripped at the straps that held the shield in place. She kicked the shield away a moment later.  
Placing the whip at her side, Lynn reached down and grabbed the elf by the collar. Yelthium futilely grabbed at her forearm, but her strength was too much, and she hoisted him in the air. She held his limp body aloft for a moment or two, and then brought his neck down her mouth. She drank long and deep, not one drop finding its way to the dirt floor.  
When she was done, she placed the dead elf back on his feet, and before he could topple over, her scythe came out and took his head. The cut was perfectly clean and, in a tribute to her appetite, bloodless. She turned to Drizzt, who, now with the shield down, could attack. She licked her lips and rolled her tongue like a professional wine tester. "Good," she finally said. "A strong magical edge to it, but . . ." she paused as she locked eyes with Drizzt, "too much sun."  
Drizzt swallowed his anger for now and instead of staring down the vampire, he looked up toward Deltrophan. The host smiled at him and nodded, letting the drow know he would get his chance. Lynn didn't notice the exchange, instead she turned back to the arena and used her whip to pick up the fallen moon blade. Its energy was gone now, and it seemed to be no more than a normal long sword. But Yelthium's blood was inside her, and she channeled its energy into the enchantment of the blade.  
The weapon began to hum with energy. Instead of a blue glow, it seemed to glow - as impossible as it may be - black. It sucked in the surrounding light, casting a shadow over itself. She retrieved the weapon's sheath and strapped it opposite her scythe, just beneath her whip.  
The vampire walked slowly out of the ring and up to where Drizzt stood. He had sheathed his scimitars but his hands hovered over the hilts. "It matches better against your weapons," she said with a toothy grin. "I want to give you a fair fight." She laughed to herself and left the cavern.  
  
* * *  
  
Roland had obtained his black armor from a black dragon he had killed 15 years ago. He had gotten the stupid black to stick its head through a narrow cave tunnel in pursuit of the crafty fighter. The tunnel had been rigged with enough explosive oil to level a city block, or, in this case, enough to remove the head of a dragon. He had earned an enormous sum of money and fame from that killing, especially, when upon dragging the head into town, he had said that he had chopped it off.  
Roland knew he was a good fighter, but the confidence he had gained from killing the black had taken his ambition to new heights. The nights were not long enough and the taverns not crowded enough for him to pick enough fights. Eventually he got bored, and one drunken night, after bragging how he had killed the black, he was dared to kill a red that lived 50 miles to the north and came out once every 10 years for a feeding. He took the bet.  
Upon scouting out the dragon's lair, he realized how stupid he was. His old trick wouldn't work as the red would drench every suspect tunnel with fire before sticking his head down into it, and even if he didn't, Roland didn't think he could get enough oil to blow the massive creature's head off. He used a different strategy.  
The mountainside had one very interesting feature, that being a lake nestled high in the cliffs. Roland was able to lure the red into a tiny cavern just beneath the lake and then blocked off the exit with more explosives. The whole cave system had been formed eons ago from dripping water from the lake before a particularly cold winter had frozen the bottom of the lake, from which had had never unfrozen. It had never unfrozen, that is, until Roland loaded both the bottom of the lake and the top of the cave with more oil.  
It had only taken two minutes for the foolish red to drench the wrong area of the cavern with flame, and he was greeted with a very rude shower. The ceiling of the cave had been littered with cracks from the centuries of dripping water, and several large holes were created through which water gushed. The holes were still far too small for the red to get much more than a toe through, and that was how he had died 12 hours later, with a toe sticking up into the bottom of the half full lake.  
Roland had waited two weeks before he was confident that the red had in fact drowned and was not faking it. He blew open the entrance he had closed, draining the lake, and then spent another two long weeks cutting off the head to drag back to town. It was then that he realized he needed a better weapon.  
In his research on dragons, and he had been doing a lot of that, he found that white dragons were generally held to have the strongest and sharpest teeth as they usually preferred to eat their food frozen. No one really knows how Roland had killed the white who's tooth a dwarven smith had enchanted onto a adamantium shaft, for it was after that encounter that the fighter had pretty much stopped talking.  
He was not talking now either. He stood in the ring, impervious to just about any form of magical damage, and his heavily enchanted armor meant he was also impervious to just about any type of physical damage as well. His axe could punch a hole through stone and steel alike. His arms were corded with muscle, and his strength was enhanced further by two of the four rings he wore. The other two gave him more dexterity than even the quickest halfling thief.  
None of that mattered.  
Two minutes into his fight he was up against the inside of the domed shield pounding on it with his fists. His axe had been thrown to one side of the ring, his shield to another, and now he was screaming for his life.  
"Let me out! I didn't sign up for this! I had no idea! For the sake of the gods let me ou-" and then he suddenly got his wish. He was dead before he could even register the pain that shot through his body, for the killing blow severed his spinal cord instantly. A massive shaft of steel shot out of his chest and lifted him up in the air, pushing him through the now absent shield.  
Gunthor regarded the man at the end of the Thunder Blade as casually as a cook looking at a piece of meat on the end of a stick to see if it is done. Only this wasn't a small piece of meat. Roland weighed over 250 pounds in full armor, but the golem hoisted him up in the air at the end of the equally heavy Thunder Blade as if he was nothing.  
Styne smiled to himself as he watched his fighter dispose of the formidable knight and bring fear to the eyes of the other fighters in attendance. Errtu also smiled, knowing that in only a short while he would be walking the physical realm once again. Drizzt might die in this tournament, and though he couldn't do it, he would at least be able to watch it. And besides, Drizzt had friends, lots of friends.  
Shri'irinith was not smiling. She was a marilith, and it was very difficult to get her serpentine face to do anything but grin broadly. She was Roland's sponsor and she had thought that for sure someone who could kill dragons would be able to handle a few worthless fighters. She had been wrong.  
Styne saw her disappointed expression, and couldn't help but rub it in. He had Gunthor turn toward the marilith and swing his massive sword around. Roland came flying off the end of the blade, and with a little magical guiding struck his sponsor in the chest. Shri'irinith held up the dead man with one of her six arms, wondering what she was supposed to do with him now. It was only then that she realized the cave was a lot quieter than it should have been. She looked up to see Deltrophan staring at her.  
"Your exssselenssse, your majessssty, pleasssse, I didn't know-"  
"Silence you hissing wench!"  
Shri'irinith nearly bit her own tongue off, an impressive feat considering she only had two teeth and her tongue was already forked. It didn't matter anyway, Deltrophan had accompanied his command with a spell, and the poor serpent would never speak again.  
"How dare you bring such a whimpering coward into my tournament! You think I found that enjoyable?! I won't be able to eat for an age now every time I think of his pathetic whining!"  
Deltrophan might look comical when he tried to flex in front of a mirror, but he had other muscles that no one could see, and when he flexed those . . . stay clear.  
Shri'irinith foolishly tried to transport her self back to her own plane of existence, but Deltrophan had no intention of letting her go. Like the demon at dinner, it looked like she had just walked into a brick wall even though she had not moved. She tossed Roland aside and tried to slither away. The stone ground around her began to bubble and six stalagmites rose up around her. Their dull points morphed into hands and the shafts formed into elbow joints.  
The ground she was on quickly turned to mud and she could not maneuver in the muck. Each enchanted appendage grabbed onto one of the marilith's arms and suddenly the 6-armed creature had none. She coiled her body back and screamed, or at least she tried to. Her voice wasn't there, for which everyone watching was thankful.  
As the six stone tentacles pulled the dismembered arms into the soft mud, four more came up and grabbed hold of the writhing serpent. They slowly pulled her into the cavern floor, her muted mouth filling up with mud before she disappeared from view.  
Deltrophan hadn't needed to lift a finger to cast his spells, but he still furiously straightened his robe before he turned back to the remaining fighters. "Next!" he shouted before sitting down. "And it had best be a good fight." He glanced back in disgust at the spot where Shri'irinith had been and noticed Roland still lying there. "Dragon fighter indeed," he muttered under his breath and casually tossed a magical acid arrow at the dead fighter.  
The yellow pierced the black armor with a splash. Steam rose instantly, eating easily through the scales as if it were boiling oil on an ice cube. Within ten seconds there was nothing left of the fighter or his armor but a smoldering stain on the cave floor. He turned back with a semi satisfied look on his face. The mage stared at the empty ring, waiting to be entertained. He would be.  
  
* * *  
  
Enrique bowed deeply toward his opponent. "My dear, I truly regret having to conduct this fight. Could but I just gaze on you for the rest of eternity, but alas, our destinies lie elsewhere." Enrique pulled a red rose from his vest and obtained a far off look in his eyes.  
"Your face is angelic,  
It chokes me to a cough,  
Your head is regally adorned,  
Too bad I have to cut it off."  
He smiled across the ring and casually popped the rose bud off its stem. "I know it's not my best," he lamented. "I'd have used the one about your breast and how it is where my blade shall rest, but . . . well . . . you're an elf."  
Adenae glanced down briefly at her flat chest and her scowl only deepened. "You will not be able to rhyme so well once I cut your throat open."  
"I don't think he rhymes that well with it intact," Druia muttered from the crowd so Drizzt and Entreri could hear.  
"I heard that," Enrique said, turning to look at the woman. "You're just jealous."  
Druia just smiled back and motioned toward the ring. Enrique turned his attention back to his opponent and ducked just in time as the Feather Blade swiped over his head, almost ending the fight right there.  
"Who is going to take whose head?" the elf snapped at him, wasting an opportunity to attack Enrique when he was scrambling. The fighter didn't give her another chance. He got his feet under him and quickly distanced himself from the dangerous blade.  
Like with the Thunder Blade, Enrique could tell there was an enchantment on the weapon that allowed a 90-pound 5-foot elf maiden to swing the 7-foot weapon about her body as if it were a rope. He guessed the name of the weapon had significance beyond the fact that its serrated blade looked like a peacock eye feather. Enrique had to remember that. He was good at physics, but it would play little role in how the elf handled her weapon. He needed to keep her from swinging it so freely. His nunchaku had reach, but not enough.  
Enrique danced around the ring for a while, playing with the reach of the halberd. Adenae obliged him, giving the nimble fighter a lot of angles and lengths to deal with as she swung the weapon around herself, sometimes gripping the long shaft in the middle and sometimes at the end. Enrique took notice at how quickly she could alternate between the grips, fluctuating the length of the swing by over three feet in half a second. He needed to slow the swing down.  
He gripped each of his ivory handles tightly, the 3-foot chain between them hanging loosely. As Adenae swung the center of her weapon around her waist, Enrique feinted forward, and predictably, the elf was suddenly holding the weapon at its end, the colorful blade aimed right at the human's head.  
Enrique snapped his weapon up, catching the blade in the chain, which saved his head, but he underestimated the leverage the elf had, and his weapon was ripped from his grasp. He almost foolishly went after them, but Adenae cut her swing short and the blade came right back in toward the defenseless human. Enrique rolled out of the way, coming up 20 feet from the small elf.  
She stood smiling with the shaft of her weapon on the ground. A foot above her head, Enrique's nunchaku were wrapped tightly around the shaft just under the blade. Adenae shook the Feather Blade a little, and the chain loosened and the two ivory handles fell to her feet. She scooped the chain over her foot and kicked the weapon to the far side of the ring. Before Enrique could even think about running around the elf to get his weapon back, she brought her halberd to a ready stance and swung it about to remind him that with her arms she had a 9-foot reach and Enrique was not getting around her.  
He pulled out his melee dagger and prepared to face off against his underestimated foe. Adenae put on a very impressive display; Enrique was more impressive. The elf moved the weapon in a blur such that the colorful blade seemed to make a myriad of rainbows in the arena. It never hit Enrique. He dodged half of the strikes and blocked the others either with his bracers or with his dagger. He knew he could not absorb the full strike of the weapon, and always used glancing blows against the shaft of the halberd.  
Every time he tried to get inside the weapon's range, Adenae altered her grip and shortened her swing, making Enrique jump back. Soon he stopped trying. He wasn't going to out maneuver her. He was willing to admit that she was quicker than he was. But he also knew that he was smarter.  
Enrique kept his distance now, allowing Adenae to keep her grip at the end of the weapon. She swung it so fast that he no longer even tried to block it, scared he might crack a bracer or loose his dagger. He also noticed that Adenae had her eyes half closed. He could imagine that this elf trained daily with her weapon swinging it about her body much as she did now in a sort of half trance. He could also tell that while she did not look about much, she had a keen sense of where Enrique's nunchaku were and always stayed between him and them. He just hoped that was the only thing she was paying attention to.  
Enrique didn't want his back pedaling to seem too obvious, and he managed to keep it so subtle that even Drizzt and Entreri, who were students of combat, didn't notice what he was doing until the trap was sprung. Enrique managed to back himself up to the edge of the ring, and he carefully reached a hand backwards as if he were just preparing to dodge. He felt the invisible shield surrounding the ring, smiled, and then baited his opponent. Adenae stepped in and swung hard.  
As it turned out, there was something strong enough to stop her swing.  
The blade hit the shield with such force that it was a miracle the elf managed to keep a hold on her weapon, but she was severely jolted. Enrique was the only one not surprised by what had just happened and he closed in on the elf quickly. She again tried to shorten the grip on her weapon, but he was too close to bring her blade around and she instead struck out with the blunted end of the halberd.  
Enrique caught the thrust with his dagger, hoping to cut through the wooden shaft, but noticed that it was laced with silver and didn't hold onto any hopes of damaging the weapon. Instead he punched out under the block with his free hand. His fist sunk into her gut, blasting the air out of her. He scraped his blade along the handle, hoping to take a few fingers off, but she quickly let go and stumped backwards.  
He wasn't going to let her escape that easily though, and his left hand snaked out and grabbed her collar. He yanked her back in, driving his forehead into her nose. The elf somehow managed to hold on to consciousness as her nose snapped, and her hands actually scrambled inside her tunic for some daggers. Enrique hoisted her slight frame into the air, not needing any magic to do it and tossed her toward the edge of the ring before she could strike with her blades. She bounced off the shield like a rag doll.  
Enrique could have easily finished her then, but he didn't. Instead he walked slowly and deliberately over to where his nunchaku lay. He picked them up and turned around to see his opponent. She was on one knee, panting heavily and pulling on the Feather Blade to stand up as if it were a crutch. There was blood all down her chin from her nose and she had a dazed look in her eyes, but the rest of her face showed a gritty determination.  
"Let the fun begin," Enrique said. He didn't have a scratch on him. He activated the blade from one of his handles and then let it fall, holding on to the other. He had sheathed his dagger when he had picked up his main weapon, but now he pulled it as well.  
Holding one of the ivory handles, he swung the other one, with the blade extended, around his body in an impressive display of coordination. Adenae struggled to her feet and staggered to meet the human in the middle of the ring. Her weakened condition was somewhat of an act, and she lashed out suddenly. Enrique was done underestimating her though, and he was not taken by surprise.  
The human ducked under the strike and lashed out at her legs with his own lengthy weapon. She hopped back and tried to cut down with her blade, but Enrique already had his dagger up to catch the attack. He pushed up with the block as he stood and swung up. The elf had to step back, and he stepped with her, keeping his dagger in contact with the halberd and swinging his weapon back down. She had to jump back this time.  
Enrique pushed his advantage, and the Feather Blade had suddenly transformed from a devastating offensive weapon to a woefully inadequate defensive one. Enrique only let the shaft block his attacks because he wanted to end this fight like he had promised. Suddenly Adenae was against the shield, and, again, only Enrique knew it.  
As her shoulders hit the invisible barrier behind her, Enrique pushed the Feather Blade out wide with his dagger and then swung down at her left arm when she was forced to release the shaft with her right. She quickly let go with her left as well, pulling it back as Enrique's blade came slicing through.  
Before she could escape, Enrique kicked the bottom of his boot against her chest, pinning her to the inside of the slightly curved dome. He smiled to her along the length of his outstretched leg, wiggling his foot around a bit. "See," he observed, "no chest." With that he swung his weapon over his leg so the blade cut just above the elf's shoulders.  
She fell forward, her head rolling ten feet away. Enrique gently flipped her body over and retrieved her head. He pulled a black tulip from his vest and laid it on her body. "This is for the two lips that will never be kissed again and will turn black and cold. Sleep well."  
Enrique rose from his crouch, bowed once to Deltrophan and left the ring without saying a word to anyone. The mage was satisfied. Round two was over. 


	10. Round Three

Chapter 9  
Round Three  
  
The tavern was quiet. The numbers had dwindled down, and while friendships hadn't exactly been formed, no one looked forward to fighting each other. Drizz, Entreri, Druia, and Enrique all sat at the same table. Enrique had offered a toast to Adenae, but no one had responded.  
Only one person was upbeat and cheery, and he entered the tavern for the first time since coming to the island. Styne walked through the doors to gather what information he could about his next opponent, whomever that might be. He felt confident with Gunthor and wasn't worried about the fight, but now that they were down to the final cut of fighters, his competition was going to get smarter. Best to know what they are thinking.  
Druia was the only one to look up and regard the battle mage. "What do you want? This is a place for fighters."  
Styne rested his right hand on the pommel of his huge sword. "Would you like to test me?"  
"If you feel that confident in your abilities, why are you not fighting?"  
"I might be good, but my brother is better."  
Druia rolled her eyes at the comment and went back to her drink. She might be the young and inexperienced one at the table, but she wasn't that stupid. No one bought that he was Gunthor's brother.  
Styne ignored the look and spun a chair away from an adjacent table to sit with the fighters. He rested his elbows on the back of the chair and regarded each carefully. "Why the long faces? Come on guys. You each won big." He turned to Drizzt. "Except you, but you're going to fight the vampire and undoubtedly win." He turned to Enrique. "And why are you so quiet? I'd expect you to be having the most fun of all. You'd think you just fought Cayne again."  
Enrique was unbelievably quick. His mug went hard and fast toward the mage, stuttering only briefly so the ale inside could shoot out before the mug followed. Styne had no time to dodge and took the ale full in the face, his eyes open. He tried to start a spell, but the mug crashed into his forehead. He lost concentration momentarily, and started to stumble backwards, but Enrique's hand was around his throat, choking any potential spell before it could be uttered.  
The other three people at the table backed up a bit. This was far more than just an annoyed reaction. Something else was going on here.  
"Dekaina!" Enrique called suddenly. His sponsor appeared in a wink. She was dressed as modestly as her body would allow and had a serious look on her face for the first time. "Honey, the five of us would like some privacy."  
The succubus nodded and summoned a shimmering shield around the table. Enrique turned back to Styne once he felt the barrier was in place. The mage was trying to blink the alcohol out of his eyes. His hand went back to his pommel, but Enrique tightened his hold on Styne's neck, and his right hand held his dagger to the mage's side, the tip poking through his chainmail.  
"Deltrophan has eyes everywhere. Now we can talk in private, and believe me, you are going to talk . . ." he looked deep into his captive's eyes, "Garristyne."  
Styne tried to express his disbelief through words, but couldn't get a syllable out. Enrique saw he was starting to turn blue and let go. "Understand that if you make a move, I will be the last one to hit you, but only because I'd rather watch other people do it."  
Styne didn't need the warning to be repeated. He could see from the caliber of fighters around the table and how they were all trained on him, that his first strike advantage was lost. And with them, there would be no second strike. While he tried to regain his breath, Enrique turned to his associates.  
"Cayne was a fighter from the last tournament. He had me beat. I'm not saying he was my better, but he had me beat. I had made a few mistakes and he was able to disarm me and had me wounded on the ground. He made fatal mistake, though. As I reached for the hold-out dagger I keep in my vest for a throw I'm sure he could have ducked or blocked, he let loose with a volley of magic missiles to knock the weapon from my hand. It worked, but Deltrophan halted the fight right there, accused Cayne of cheating, and banished him to . . . somewhere."  
Enrique looked to Styne who had now caught his breath. "Styne could not have known that name or at least the implications of it unless he had been there."  
He turned back to look at his audience. "There was a mage apprentice named Garristyne that took great offense to Deltrophan's punishment. He saw Cayne's attack as a perfect combination of magic and melee. He insisted on learning how to use a weapon and thought that any true mage in search of power and knowledge would be foolish not to do likewise. Deltrophan disagreed and Garristyne was kicked out of the academy."  
Enrique looked again at Styne. "Did I miss anything?"  
"Only that I was right," the battle mage rasped, his throat still not working properly. "I've honed my weapon and my magic, and none of you could stand against me." It seemed like a pretty hollow claim with the condition he was in, blind from ale and barely able to talk, but no challenged him.  
"So why did you come back?" Entreri asked. "Was it just to watch your mute sibling fight?"  
Styne understood why the others were interested in this development. Their lives depended on the outcome of this tournament, and if this mage was cheating or had ulterior motives other than combat, it would greatly affect them. "You need not worry. Continue fighting. Kill Gunthor for all I care. I am here for Deltrophan, nothing else. This tournament was just a means to an end. I needed access to the island, and mortals can't get here without help."  
"You plan to kill him?" Druia asked. "Just like that."  
Styne frowned at the sarcasm. "It is obviously not that simple. I am waiting for my moment and my time. I was the most gifted of his students, and he knew it. He saw me as a rival not a pupil, and my desire to pursue the art of weapons gave me the potential to elevate my craft above him. He knew this, and he banished me. I am here to show him he was wrong. I was here to claim what should have been mine."  
"Eternal life," Drizzt said, figuring it all out.  
"I've been alive off this island for over 100 years, but I can still feel myself aging."  
"But you aren't fighting in the tournament," Druia pointed out, "how do you expect to obtain it?"  
"Deltrophan never fought in a tournament either," Styne replied. "He lures students to this island promising them a chance at eternal life. Promising them the answers to every question imaginable. Promising them the power to defeat death itself, but they are lies. He pretends to delight in sharing his knowledge, but he keeps his true secrets locked away. He would tell you that no one has proven themselves worthy. No one has achieved his level of enlightenment. He would tell you that none of his students have reached his level. That is not true. I knew of several that had. I am just the only one that has the nerve to stand up to him."  
"Your idea of standing up to him is altering your name and appearance and pretending to be a petty escort to a mindless brute?" Enrique asked.  
"I am waiting for my time," Styne repeated. "My vendetta has nothing to do with you. What do you care if Deltrophan dies? It will likely save your lives. Only one of you will survive anyway, and if I am successful, you won't have to return to defend your title. If I am not, then you will be entertained by the encounter."  
Styne had regained most of his motor skills and stood to leave. No one made a move to stop him. He turned around and stopped dead as his eyes met Dekaina. She was looking as alluring as possible again. "If you should gain eternal life," she reached out and stroked his muscular arm, "look me up. I've always heard that a battle mage can do amazing things with his . . . sword."  
A shiver ran down Styne's back, and he stepped past the succubus and outside of the magical barrier. Yletriz watched the encounter from an invisible corner of the bar. He could hear nothing through the barrier and could only see hazy outlines of the people inside. He thought about telling his master about this development, but he really had nothing to say. He had heard the reference to Cayne, but did not make the connection to Garristyne that Enrique had made.  
Instead, the imp decided to stay quiet. What ever was going on, it would prove entertaining. The next round was going to start soon.  
  
* * *  
  
Lynn Shallarock held her new blade up to the light in the cave, and the sword swallowed it. The blade was in constant shadow and seemed to only glow darker the longer she held it aloft. Yelthium had been taller than the vampire, and the moon blade had been a hand and a half weapon for him. Lynn could comfortably hold it in two hands.  
Drizzt stepped up into the ring with both scimitars drawn. He was not there to show boat. He had no intention of being entertaining, though he was sure it would be. He was there to kill the vampire. He knew he was being played. The noble drow knew that this was perhaps the only foe which he could actually take pleasure in killing. Deltrophan was not blind to that fact. Drizzt didn't care.  
Lynn smiled her toothy grin at the drow. "I told you you'd get your turn." She struck a pose with her new sword. "Now let's dance."  
The two walked toward each other, and Lynn, with the longer weapon, attacked first. Drizzt easily blocked the strike with his left blade and sent his right on the attack. Lynn swept her sword across her body to bat the thrust aside, and then reversed the motion to keep the other blade at bay.  
Lynn was stronger than and just as quick as Drizzt, and her one blade to his two was no disadvantage. The two sparred for a full minute, Drizzt taking a careful look at her style, looking for strengths and weaknesses. Lynn didn't give him a whole lot to look at as she pirouetted gracefully, slashing and cutting at the drow. She looked like she was dancing.  
Drizzt didn't need to be told this was not a goblin or an orc. She was no simple vampire either. She ruled in the underdark, and just the fact that she knew Jarlaxle told more of her skill than anything. The drow mercenary did not ally himself with weaklings.  
Drizzt caught one of her strikes with both weapons suddenly, the moon blade halting its sweeping motion in the scimitars' X. Lynn had been spinning and was now held up. She didn't stay off-balance for long, kicking out with a leg. Drizzt released his left blade from the block, pushing the moon blade out with his right scimitar and chopping down with the other.  
Lynn pulled her kick back at the knee, but Drizzt stepped in close, driving his own knee into her extended thigh. The blow would have made a normal fighter's leg go numb, but the vampire was already without circulation, so she only winced at the strike. He was too close for her to bring her long weapon around, so she let go with her right hand and sent her elbow toward Drizzt's chin.  
The drow leaned back, giving him more room to work, and brought his left weapon up toward her side. Lynn hadn't expected to hit the agile fighter with her elbow, but also knew that he still had a weapon at her right side. Her arm went down, and her hand clamped onto Drizzt's wrist, her strength holding the attack away.  
The vampire tugged hard on the wrist, bringing Drizzt back in close. Her eyes looked hungrily at him, knowing the weaker fighter would not be able to pull away. Instead, Drizzt rotated his right weapon, keeping the blade in contact with her sword for as long as possible, and brought the pommel up hard.  
Lynn was too focused on the drow's neck to see the strike coming and took the blow across the cheek. She stumbled back, and Drizzt freed his left arm, slashing up across her body. Lynn was stunned, but not out of it, and somersaulted backwards to avoid the attack. She came up quickly, and Drizzt held his ground.  
With the sword still held in her left hand, the vampire pulled her whip with her right, her scythe still on her hip. She snapped the chained whip a few times and approached slowly. Again she had the longer weapon - even longer this time - and attacked first. Drizzt caught the strike with Twinkle, noticing how Lynn had eyed up the glowing blade before. The chains wrapped around the scimitar and held tight.  
Unlike Yelthium's moon blade, Twinkle's enchantment did not draw strength from Drizzt's life force, but from his alignment. The weapon glowed bright when enemies were near and needed the moral character of its wielder to determine who was friend and who was foe. Try as she might, Lynn was never going to suck the good out of the drow. And she wouldn't want to even if she could, for Drizzt's sense of mercy was the only thing she had going for her. He wasn't going to show her any. Instead, he offered her trickery.  
Drizzt's knees went weak, and his eyes seemed to roll back in his head as the whip held tight to Twinkle. Lynn smiled and relaxed her stance, assuming the fight was just about over. It was only just beginning. Drizzt straightened suddenly and spun 90 degrees, extending Twinkle away from his opponent. Lynn was unexpectedly yanked forward, and Drizzt offered her Icingdeath to stop her charge. The vampire barely swung her sword in front of her in time to knock the skewer aside. Drizzt turned the rest of the way now, pulling hard on the whip to flip the vampire over his back.  
Lynn jumped instead, landing six feet in front of the crouching drow with her back turned. Drizzt tugged again on the whip, spinning her around and leaped forward with his scimitar leading. She had no time to block the attack this time, and stepped back instead. Icingdeath sunk into the vampire's stomach two inches, the hungry blade sucking at the demon inside her.  
Drizzt swept the blade out wide, slicing open her stomach as she stumbled backwards, her whip finally releasing its useless hold on Twinkle. The wound wouldn't kill her, and it oozed more than it bled. All it really did was make her mad.  
Lynn lashed out with her whip again. Drizzt offered Twinkle once more, but she wasn't interested in the weapon, she wanted flesh. The whip changed direction twice, and eluded both blades, striking Drizzt in the chest. His mitrhil armor held, and he snapped his head back as the barbed chains made a move toward his neck.  
The whip pulled back and then snapped out again and again. Drizzt stayed on the move, his blades creating a steel shield around him. Finally, Lynn latched onto one of the blocking blades, Icingdeath, and pulled hard. Drizzt accepted the tug, needing to get inside the whip's range anyway. He rolled forward, and quickly swept Twinkle in front of him, batting aside the predictable sword.  
He bounced off the inside block and sent his weapon toward the already wounded and vulnerable midsection. Lynn seemed to invite the attack as she brought her moon blade back in at shoulder height. Drizzt saw he could score a vicious wound on her, but he would lose his head. He ducked at the last second, and Lynn kneed him in the forehead.  
The drow flew backwards a few feet, and with another tug on the whip, he was down to one scimitar. Drizzt shifted Twinkle to his left to defend against the whip, shook the cobwebs from his head, and charged. He caught the whip halfway down, bending it outward so the heads couldn't hit him. She didn't care. Instead she brought her sword in toward his unprotected right side.  
Drizzt's hand shot out for Lynn's left wrist, and the Vampire almost seemed amused that the weaker fighter thought he could stop her blow that way. At the last second, a dagger shot out of Drizzt's sleeve, and it bit hard into the vampire's forearm. The moon blade hit the ground, and Lynn quickly grabbed the drow's arm before the dagger could do any more damage. It too dropped to the ground after a brief struggle.  
Meanwhile, the whip was snaking around Drizzt's block and bit hard into his left arm. His whole side went momentarily numb and he dropped that weapon too. Instead of trying to pull away, Drizzt grabbed hold of the whip's handle. He was not unfamiliar with dark magic, and unlike the whips belonging to drow priestesses, this had nothing to do with Lloth.  
It was a battle of wills, and as Lynn saw her own weapon begin to turn on her, she yanked it away and threw it across the ring. Drizzt used his now free hand to punch the vampire in the face. Lynn laughed, at the weak punch, and punched out with her other hand. Drizzt went reeling.  
He got his balance back and stood in front of her in a ready stance, no hint of a weapon. Lynn continued to laugh at him. "Go ahead, drow," she said, sticking her chin out. "I'll give you one free hit before I tear you apart."  
Drizzt brought his right arm across his body and stepped forward to give her a backhanded punch. With her chin out, she stared the drow in the eyes, and didn't see what his hand was doing. It wasn't until she felt a rustle at her side and looked down, that she knew something was up. By then, it was too late.  
Drizzt pulled the scythe from the vampire's hip and swung it up and across. She brought her right arm up in defense, but the heavily enchanted blade cut cleanly through that before it passed through the neck. The look of shock on her face lasted only a brief moment.  
It looked like all the moisture was just sucked right out of her as her skin turned a ghastly white and burst into a cloud of ash and dust. Drizzt dropped the scythe on the pile and brushed his hands off.  
Deltrophan smiled as he stood from his chair, glad that he wouldn't have to worry about how to give an undead creature eternal life. There was still the matter of her sponsor though. Garnaax stood 40 feet from the ring, not too distant from Thelania who was there to watch Drizzt fight. The ghaele could sense something was about to happen and made herself scarce.  
Garnaax turned to the host mage. "Allas my fighter has been slain." He turned to Drizzt and bowed. "You are truly the greatest of all drow warriors." His eyes went back to Deltrophan. "And now I bid my leave."  
"Not so fast!" Deltrophan ordered. It did not appear that he had cast a spell, but the demilich stayed where he was for now. "Your fighter was already eternal and had no life to begin with. You are free to move about in any plane you desire, even more so than I am. Why did you come to my tournament?"  
The undead priest shrugged, "For fun?"  
Deltrophan smiled. "Then let's have a little fun."  
Now Garnaax tried to escape but an electric blue ring snapped into existence around his waist. He wrestled with the shackle briefly and then turned a deathly gaze at the mage. The two apprentices on either side of Deltrophan withered and died instantly, but the only effect on the host was that a few hairs turned gray and fell out. He stepped off his observatory platform and into the ring over 30 feet away. No one had seen him open a doorway. He had just instantly transported himself. Drizzt didn't worry about it, but was smart enough to make himself scarce as well.  
Two of the most powerful beings in the Realms were now at more of an eye level with each other. "What are you doing?!" Garnaax cried.  
"Having a little fun," Deltrophan replied. He loosed two vivid lightening bolts, but Garnaax, trapped though he was, casually brushed them aside.  
"You can not hurt me. I am death! No one can harm me!"  
The mage smiled. "Then maybe I should heal you."  
A look of pure dread entered the demilich's eyes, something he was not used to feeling. He quickly scrolled though his list of spells and powers. A list that could fill a small library, but nowhere could he find a defense for the spell he knew Deltrophan was going to cast. He wasn't sure there even existed one.  
Rarely did the powerful mage have to speak to cast a spell, but he did now. Everyone in the cavern braced themselves for the horrific spell the mage must be preparing to cast. No one expected what happened next. Deltrophan's voice sounded like a harp, the words flowing beautifully off his tongue, soothing the anxiety in everyone that heard them.  
Light shone brightly in the cavern and flowers began to spring up out of the stone floor. As Deltrophan gestured toward his struggling nemesis, the light focused on Garnaax, and with in seconds, he was standing in a field of fragrant flowers. The demilich stopped his struggling as an extraordinary change went through him. His icy white skin warmed and tanned. His hollow face gained color and filled out as if someone was blowing a balloon in his head. His bald head grew a thick crop of brown hair. His eyes changed from black to bright blue. His wiry frame filled out, muscles crowding over themselves for position. In the end, he stood as a powerful young man, completely restored.  
Garnaax regarded himself for a moment and screamed. "No!!!" He loosed a volley on Deltrophan that caused everyone in the cavern to shudder. Sphere after sphere of energy burst against the mage, and slowly those present could see the shimmering shields of protection slowly disappear around him. Deltrophan did not seem concerned.  
With a wave of his arm, two massive spatial rifts appeared on either side of the trapped priest. Garnaax pulled his attention from his spell casting to see two mammoth pit fiends step out of the abyss and into the cavern. He sent three lightning bolts and a fireball into the chest of one of the creatures, blasting him into the far wall, but the other one grabbed the prone man in his clawed hand.  
The blue ring stayed around his waist as the fiend hoisted the priest into the air. A magical collection of blades swirled around him, cutting and slicing into the creature's hand, but the fiend was too stupid to let go, and just shook his hand has hard as he could. He got the same effect, for Garnaax lost all measure of self and concentration.  
The stunned pit fiend was back on his feet and quickly limped over to their prey. It grabbed at the legs of the dizzy man, and cried to it's "friend" to let go. They tugged on him for a short while until his legs came free, his torso still in the grasp of the first creature. The rest of Garnaax's existence consisted entirely of chewing noises.  
When the pit fiends were finished and Deltrophan satisfied, he waived his arm and the two monsters shrunk down into tiny mice and scurried into a crack in the cave floor.  
Entreri turned to look at Enrique. "I was confused at first why so few fighters were here. With the potential benefits for both fighter and sponsor, I'd figure this contest to be crowded. Now I wonder why anyone would dare enter this cavern voluntarily."  
Enrique nodded. "The tournament that I won had only nine fighters. Deltrophan runs a tight operation. It is the only way he is ensured of getting the best fighters. And even so, we still got a few losers."  
The two lapsed into silence. An apprentice walked up to the pair and they each held their breath, wondering which of them would fight next or if they would fight each other. "Enrique Cortez," the apprentice said, "your presence is requested in the ring."  
Enrique motioned toward Entreri, but the apprentice shook his head. That meant he was either fighting Gunthor or Druia. He didn't look forward to either.  
  
* * *  
  
It was Druia.  
The young woman stood confidently in the ring, her pike held tightly in front of her.  
"My dear," Enrique started, pulling a lilly from his vest, "You beauty is like-"  
"Cut the troll dung," she interrupted. "We are here to fight, not to romance each other."  
Enrique smiled and crumpled the flower in his fist. "Very well."  
Drizzt frowned at the exchange. Druia reminded him too much of Catti- brie. Young and fiery. Catti-brie had been able to show restraint, however. The daughter of Bruenor Battlehamer knew that she was a formidable fighter, but she had no selfish pride in her skills, and her confidence did not drive her into battles in which she didn't belong. Quite the opposite, she was constantly reminding Drizzt that he no longer had to prove himself with his blades.  
Whether it was against Entreri or just a boastful pirate, Catti-brie always inquired as to the reason for Drizzt's battle eagerness. The drow wasn't worried about his close friend ever getting involved where she didn't belong. Any lust for action that she might have would never be able to contradict her morals.  
Druia did not have that conviction. She was still too young and boastful. She was a better fighter than Catti-brie and nearly on par with Drizzt, Entreri, or Enrique, and she knew it. She knew she was a young, pretty female who could kick the butt of just about any man she met. Growing up like that had obviously taken a toll on her world view. Drizzt saw potential, but he didn't know if she would live long enough to develop it.  
Enrique twirled his nunchaku around his torso, the blades extended from both of the ivory handles. He had seen the way the young woman had moved in her fight with the ogre. He had fought against too many monks in his long life not to recognize the training. Druia intrigued Enrique, and he had sent Dekaina back into the realms to gather information for him.  
Druianalla was born a bastard child in an elven village. Her mother had been raped by a young barbarian, who years later had led his tribe to torch the village and kill or enslave everyone. Druia, just a child, had escaped to the nearby mountains. There she had been taken in by the monks and taught their ways.  
Her barbarian heritage was the more prominent with her long blonde hair and sturdy features. Her elven blood line gave her quickness and strength combined with a keen magical sense. She had taken to the monks training and had improved on it, able to move with an ease and fluidity that made everyone else look like they were trying to swim upstream.  
But she was young. Enrique thought this might be her only weakness. He felt he might be stronger than she was, for he had not been idle for the past 250 years, but she was quicker, or at least could move quicker. Your thoughts had to be able to match your movements. Without experience or technique, speed didn't do you much good.  
The two fighters worked close to each other, neither anxious to launch into full attack. Enrique casually swung a blade at her, and she blocked it, countering with an easy swipe for his head. Enrique ducked. The two regarded each other for a moment, not advancing the fight any further.  
Eventually there was another slash, and a block. Then a kick and a doge. Then a jab and a parry. Soon, they were fighting. It started like a training match, going through the motions at half speed first to get the hang of it and then increasing slowly. Within minutes they were moving at blinding speeds, the silver pike rotating in front of Druia like a propeller and Enrique's nunchaku spinning around his body like the spokes on a speeding chariot.  
No one had made a daring move until Druia suddenly sidestepped. Enrique was waiting for just such a move, but was still amazed at how she did it. It was like when Deltrophan had magically transported himself 30 feet with a thought. Druia had only moved 3 feet, but it was done instantaneously.  
Enrique dropped into a crouch and swung low. Next to Druia's movement, the strike seemed to be in slow motion. The woman took to the air, flipping up and over the crouched fighter. Enrique adapted quickly, spinning around and lashing out at her landing spot. His blade cut viciously through the air at knee height, but there was no one there.  
Enrique thought he had timed it perfectly, but as he glanced up, he saw Druia was still hanging in the air, only coming down after his weapon cleared. It was almost as if she had stopped her descent to wait for Enrique. She landed and swung down with her weapon.  
The crouched man offered his forearm for a block, lining his bracer up to deflect the strike. Druia angled her blow at the last microsecond, clipping Enrique on the elbow. His whole arm went numb. She tried another swipe, but Enrique was rolling backwards already and the young woman didn't pursue.  
There were dozens of pressure points all over the body, and Enrique was acutely aware of all of them. It was a technique used by monks since they rarely fought with weapons, and then blunted ones at that. A well trained monk could numb a limb or leave you completely paralyzed with what looked like a harmless attack. Enrique had never gotten the hang of it, and wondered why you would want to paralyze an opponent when you could just drive a blade through their chest.  
As he stood up slowly, his left arm completely numb and useless for at least the next minute or two, he realized he would have to be a little more careful which areas of his body he presented to her for targets. Twirling his weapon in his right hand, he walked back in.  
Druia stayed defensive, clearly seeing the light go on in her opponent's eyes. As his blades sparked off her parrying pike, she started to formulate her strategy. Enrique was over ten times older than she was. He had experienced more things than she could imagine. She had to assume he knew all her tricks. He knew them, and he knew how to defeat them. The one thing she had going for her was the same thing that she had going against her this whole tournament. She was young and stupid. No one expected her to be able to reason out the strategies of her opponent. They were wrong.  
She blocked an attack high, and then suddenly spun kicked beneath it. Enrique turned, letting the kick glance off his limp left shoulder, bringing his right arm out and back in, aiming a strike for her waist. Druia spun her weapon down and around, blocking the numb chuck below the handle on the chain. The weapon wrapped around the pike and reversed direction as the block went up and wide.  
Enrique tugged hard at his opponent's weapon, and Druia obliged, sweeping the weapon at his head. He ducked and managed to unwrap his chain from the shaft before it yanked him back left. Druia spun with the attack and as Enrique stood, her heel came straight for his collar bone. He was taken by surprise, or so he pretended.  
To Druia, it felt like her heel found the nerve lying just below his collar bone, a strike that would stun the sturdiest man. In reality, Enrique had shifted at the last second, and she was actually feeling a seam in his studded leather armor. As his weapon came weakly across high, she dropped and spun around him, driving an elbow in between his twelfth and thirteenth vertebrae. Again, that is what it felt like, but as the result of another minute shift, it was actually two metal studs from his armor.  
Enrique stood motionless. Druia rose and walked in front of him. His weapon was still held in his right hand, the free handle resting on the dirt floor. His other arm, recently numbed was a mirror image on the other side. His face was an expressionless stare. Druia smiled. He was good. Very good. She had pulled that move on a number of fighters over the years, and this was exactly what they looked like.  
She walked up to him with her pike vertically in front of her. "I feel like a poem," she said, playing her part perfectly. "Or maybe a flower." Pause. "Come on, I'm waiting." She chuckled. "Pathetic."  
Druia adjusted her grip at the center of her weapon and prepared to strike. Enrique struck first. A dagger suddenly appeared in his left hand, his arm having regained feeling a minute ago, and his right arm came to life, swinging his main weapon in from the right.  
There was no way Druia could have blocked them. She was supposed to think that he was frozen solid, and her weapon was vertical in front of her, unable to block two attacks at once. She didn't care. She had seen through the ruse and blocked them anyway. Her adjusted grip had twisted her pike apart into two separate spikes. She slapped her right one down hard, cracking against the knuckles of his left hand while her left caught the chain of the nunchaku again. The dagger went flying, and the nunchaku wrapped tightly around the other pike before Druia slammed the pointed end into the ground. She dropped her right weapon and punched the shocked fighter in the face.  
Enrique stumbled backwards, having to let go of his secured weapon. "So you know about pressure points?" Druia asked him. "How about this one?" She swung in hard with her left fist, but he ducked, only to meet a hard uppercut from her right that straightened him back up.  
"Or what about this one?" her left leg came up high to knee him in the rib cage, but he spread his legs and shifted, giving her a perfect target between his legs for her other knee. His eyes rolled back in his head. He stumbled backwards again and felt the edge of the ring.  
"Here's another," she launched another left fist at his head, and he ducked again. Her right was aimed at his sternum, but has her left collided violently with the domed shield behind his head, her right arm faltered.  
Enrique grabbed the second part of the attack with both hands, and swung the young woman around. Her back and head hit hard against the force shield, and he held her there at her neck with his forearm.  
"You're good," he said, spitting blood in her face. Their eyes were only six inches apart. "You're very good, but you are still just a naïve little girl."  
Druia tried to kick up at him, but he bent his knee, catching her shin and stopping the kick. She winced from the pain. "You aren't the only one with a trick up your sleeve," he said, smiling at her discomfort. He slammed his forehead into hers, knocking the back of her head again the dome again.  
As a dazed look started to creep into her eyes, he pulled his melee dagger. He turned it over a few times in front of her face, letting the glint catch her in the eyes. "This is my favorite dagger," he said slowly.  
She smiled weakly back at him, "And this is mine." Her unsecured left arm pumped faster than lightning, stabbing Enrique in the chest. He quickly cut at her face, but his hold on her slackened from the pain, and she slipped under it. She pulled the dagger from his chest and shoved him away. His arms went wide as he tried to keep his balance, and she buried her dagger in his neck.  
He stopped stumbling after a few more awkward steps and stood rather still, his left hand closing on the dagger protruding from under his chin. As he felt the familiar inlaid pearl handle, he understood how he had lost. Druia wore a tight top and loose pants, showing way too much skin to be able to hide a dagger on her. The only place could have been at her ankle. But this wasn't her dagger it was his. It was the throwing dagger he kept in his vest. It was the one he had tried to throw at Cayne 250 years ago. It was the one he had told Druia about just a short while ago. It was the dagger that had defeated him.  
He pulled it out, looked at the blood briefly, and then fell back. Everyone in the cavern was shocked. They all seemed to lean in closer, none more than Styne. He had been waiting for this moment for a long time. He knew how the tournament worked. He knew how the spell that governed the tournament worked. And now he stood ready to figure everything out.  
Enrique clamped his hands over his throat tightly, thinking that if he could staunch the flow of blood, the regenerative powers, bestowed upon him from his eternal life, would allow him to survive. In theory they could and would, but they needed a lot more than the mere five seconds that Druia allotted them.  
The woman walked over to pick up Enrique's "favorite" dagger, taking a moment to admire the blade while it wasn't held an inch in front of her face. It was very nice. She decided to give it back to Enrique . . . in his heart. Enrique stopped his struggling now, realizing it was over. He held on much longer than he should have, some how managing to work his lips into a smile.  
Druia reached into his vest and found a black rose. She held it up and watched as the petals fell slowly off it. As the last one fell and landed on the ex-champion's chest, a rushing noise came from deep within the floor of the cavern. Druia backed up quickly and watched as a beam of light shot up from the middle of the arena where Enrique lay. The narrow beam struck the ceiling of the vast chamber and blossomed like a flower, filling the whole cavern with light.  
The walls shook, the arena hummed, and everyone inside braced against the earthquake. Suddenly the light shrank back to a pin prick over Enrique's chest, hung there for a moment, and then gently popped into a plum of sparkles.  
Deltrophan stood from his chair. "It is done. The spell is charged and ready."  
"No!!!"  
Everyone turned to look. Dekaina had been in shock through the last moments of the fight, but these words of finality from the host confirmed what she couldn't believe. "No!!!" she came screaming and running into the ring.  
Druia shrank away at first. The normally seductive succubus, was nothing of the sort now. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, her teeth barred with impressive fangs, and her claws were extended, eagerly looking forward to ripping the flesh from Druia. The young woman let the initial shock of the charge pass, and fell into a calm defensive stance. At the last second she turned aside, driving her elbow back hard and high. Some how the strike found bone amidst the sponsor's voluptuous chest, and a loud, stomach-turning crack echoed through the cavern.  
Dekaina's breath was blasted into another dimension, and she stood stunned. Druia spun around her, grabbed her chin and shoulder in two hands, and yanked violently in opposite directions. Another crack filled the chamber before the first one had even stopped echoing, and the succubus fell dead to the dirt floor.  
Druia quickly looked up at Deltrophan to see if she had just crossed a line, but the mage only smiled at her. "Well done." He might have to change his chauvinistic ways. She was rather entertaining. "Now get some rest. This round is over."  
The audience took a while to react to this statement. Drizzt and Entreri were in shock. Any relief the drow might have felt from Druia's survival was in recess next to his amazement at how she had done it. The fight had not been decided upon purely skill, but upon trickery. That was where Drizzt and Entreri had figured Druia's weakness to be. One of them was going to have to fight her.  
There was only one person in the room that wasn't concerned with the out come of the fight. Styne didn't care how Druia had won. All he cared about was the spell. When Enrique was killed and the spell released, he had been able to follow it perfectly. He had spent his whole life dedicating his study to what he had learned on this island as an apprentice. He knew how Deltrophan's mind worked and he knew how he constructed magic. He knew what energies were used and how they were shaped. Up until now, he just hadn't known how to put it all together.  
Now he knew everything. He understood the nuances and secrets of eternal life. It was not a simple thing. Death was a powerful force in the universe, and it was not defeated easily. It was something that would take time to master. Lots of time. He could leave the island now and develop the spell on his own. He would be the most powerful mage in the realms.  
That wasn't enough. He glanced up at Deltrophan who was working his way down from his pedestal. He had the power and knowledge he had come for. But there was something else he wanted: revenge. He watched the powerful mage leave the cavern with an evil grin on his face. He left in the opposite direction, following Drizzt and Entreri. 


	11. Life Lessons

Chapter 10  
Life Lessons  
  
Drizzt found his way back to his room and sat down on the bed. There was a fruit and vegetable tray on a side table next to the lone chair, but the thought of food did not appeal to him right now. He paused. When was the last time he had eaten?  
Drizzt chuckled to himself. Time had so little meaning here that the concept was becoming more and more foreign to him, and the question was difficult to ask, much less answer. There were no clocks or time pieces of any kind. It was eternally dusk outside, but Drizzt hadn't even been outside since the tournament had started.  
The drow got up and walked over to the food. He looked at it and wasn't surprised to find it in exquisite condition, but that didn't change the fact that he wasn't hungry. He turned away from the tray.  
"No, please, try some fruit."  
Drizzt was startled as Thelania walked out of a corner of the room. He was sure she hadn't been there when he had come in. "I'm not hungry," Drizzt replied, sitting back on his bed.  
"Of course you're not hungry," she agreed. "You are on the Island of Dusk. You are on the island of eternal life. All of your life energy is being sustained by magic, but that doesn't mean a little nutrition won't help." She picked up an orange and tossed it to him. "Folic acid."  
Drizzt's puzzled expression didn't need words.  
"Folic acid," she repeated. "You do know that insufficient amounts of folate have been associated with genomic hypomethylation, right?"  
Drizzt's expression did not improve. It got worse.  
Thelania sighed. "What exactly is the curriculum at Melee Magthere? Didn't they teach you anything?" Drizzt wasn't going to dignify the sarcastic (he hoped it was sarcastic) comment with a response. "DNA methylation has a pretty significant impact on the aging process. Hypo- or hypermethylation creates cell instability and leads ultimately to decay."  
Drizzt's blank stare didn't ask for more, but that is what he got.  
"Methylation is an enzyme-mediated chemical modification that adds methyl groups at selected sites on proteins, DNA and RNA. In humans, elves, dwarves, and most other mammals, DNA methylation is the only known natural modification of DNA. DNA methylation evolved primarily as a defense mechanism against invading 'parasitic' DNA sequences in the genome, such as retroviral elements, ie things that can kill you. DNA methylation patterns are reset early in embryogenesis, and reestablished early during development. After that, they are thought to be relatively stable. This allows you to fight the aging process, which sets in as your cells succumb to the infinite amount of viral and otherwise harmful microorganisms that exist everywhere.  
"Classical models propose that, once established during development, DNA methylation patterns are fixed, and perpetuated through the maintenance activity of a DNA-methyltransferase enzyme which recognizes newly synthesized DNA as hemi-methylated, and rapidly converts it to fully methylated. Of course, the classic model doesn't take into account time. Time is the killer of everything. You can't see time in a snap shot of a test tube or under a microscope. Today's priests, mages, and scientists who do this work still haven't been able to comprehend that."  
"And why, pray tell, do I need to know this?" Drizzt asked, now holding the orange as if it were some lethal weapon that if mishandled, retroviral elements would suddenly attack from all sides.  
"Life, Drizzt Do'Urden. More specifically: eternal life. How do you think one comes upon it? It is not a simple spell. It requires intimate knowledge of how life works - of how all of nature works. Understanding fire or ice or wind is simple. You are talking about rudimentary physics, but life is more complex. The priest who casts a healing spell has no idea what kind of power he is dealing with. He didn't write the spell. He found it on a scroll and memorized it. He has no idea what went into the creation of that spell. Those who come by their power too easily, without properly recognizing its source, live a dangerous life."  
Drizzt understood what she said. He'd heard stories of fighters, not much more than children, who stumble across a magical weapon of extreme power and suddenly feel they are invincible. They enter battles they have no business entering and are eventually killed. Someone who has trained all their life and has earned the skill they possess and understands the strengths of their weapons also understands their limitations, and they are not as quick to run off into battle.  
Drizzt wore magical bracers on his ankles that he had taken from Dantrag. The former weapon master of the first house of Menzoberranzan had been a great fighter, but much of his skill came from magical items he did not understand. Drizzt had earned every ounce of fighting skill he possessed, and he had understood that speed alone did not produce skill. He had been able to use this against Dantrag and had defeated him.  
But Drizzt had no intention of writing a spell for eternal life. He was about to say as much when Thelania spoke.  
"One needs to understand these things before they embark on a quest for ultimate knowledge, isn't that right?"  
Drizzt could tell this last comment was not directed at him and turned to look toward his doorway. Styne leaned casually against the door frame. "You are correct my dear," he replied smiling. He then directed his attention to Drizzt, "May I come in?"  
"Whether you may or not is irrelevant; you can't."  
"Oh really?" He pushed himself upright and walked freely into Drizzt's room. "Did you not hear anything I told you? I have spent a life time studying Deltrophan and his tricks. His simple spells are not going to get in my way."  
Drizzt threw glances between Thelania and Styne, realization slowly dawning on him. "You have it all figured out, don't you? When Enrique died and the spell was released, you were able to follow it."  
Styne nodded. "I know everything."  
"Now you are ready to face off against Deltrophan?"  
Styne frowned and shook his head. "He is a slow learner, isn't he?" The question was directed at Thelania.  
"Forgive him. He is young."  
Drizzt was growing frustrated by the situation, but was composed enough to keep his calm for now. Styne explained before the drow exploded. "You think I'm like Dantrag, don't you?" Drizzt tried to hide his amazement at how easily the mage had read his mind but failed. "You think that since I suddenly have new found power and knowledge I am going to run off and get in over my head. I have earned this knowledge, and because of that, I understand how it was acquired and what it means."  
Styne had been standing in the entryway but now walked over to the wall opposite Drizzt and leaned against it. "I have spent over a century studying and researching. I have perfected my skills and tried to unravel the mystery that Deltrophan had uncovered eons ago and has since only hinted at to his apprentices. The only conclusion I was able to come to was that there was no way I was going to be able to do it on my own. That is a very humbling realization, but I was forced to embrace it.  
"Did that mean I gave up? Obviously not. I showed flexibility and diversity. There is more than one way to solve a problem. I needed to be shown the intricacies of the spell, and there was only one way to achieve that. That is why I am here. Even though I could not achieve the knowledge on my own, I have still earned it.  
"If you ask an experienced mage to open a locked chest that has been enchanted against spells, he won't be able to do it. If you ask a simple ruffian to complete the task, he will pick up a rock and bash the lock off, opening the chest in a few seconds. Which of these two is more powerful?  
"I know now more than ever that Deltrophan is my superior. He was able to unravel in complete what I could not even approach. But that knowledge is what gives me strength. I can defeat him, but I will need a rock to bash with."  
"Why are you telling me this?" Drizzt aksed.  
"Because you are the rock." Styne reached into his cloak and pulled out a simple arrow. He walked over to the bed and handed it to the drow. "This arrow has been enchanted to pierce any magical protection conceivable. I have specifically designed it to thwart Deltrophan's spells. I trust you will know when the right time to use it is."  
Drizzt held the arrow carefully, putting the orange aside for now. "How do you know I will go along with your plan?"  
Styne looked at Thelania and shrugged. "Because that is why you are here, is it not? Are you not here to kill Deltrophan and put an end to this tournament?"  
Drizzt looked between the two people standing in front of him, a horrid thought creeping into his head. "Are you two working together?"  
"Absolutely not!" Thelania cried. "A true servant of Mielikki would never ally with one such as this. However . . ." but she couldn't bring herself to continue.  
"Ghale's have a unique gift of premonition," Styne said. "I'm sure she has demonstrated these talents for you already."  
Thelania nodded. "I sensed that your presence at this tournament would likely bring an end to the destruction it has caused. I assumed that to mean you would win. This development is also a possibility."  
"So you know I will be successful?" Drizzt asked.  
Thelania shook her head. "I know only vague ideas of what is possible. Specifics of important events involving powerful magics and fates are rarely available."  
Drizzt nodded understanding that the future was not written for him. He regarded the arrow a moment more and then stored it in his boot under his pants. "I trust that you have noticed I am not carrying a bow of any sort," Drizzt commented when he looked back up.  
"Minor detail," Styne smiled as he walked to the door. "I'm sure you will be able to improvise when the time comes." Then he was gone.  
Drizzt turned to look at Thelania; she was smiling. "Have you sorted everything out yet?"  
Drizzt nodded slowly and began peeling his orange. "So if I eat this orange, I will have eternal life?"  
Thelania sighed and rolled her eyes, but decided to play along. "Something like that."  
Drizzt smiled and took a juicy bite. "Sounds like a plan."  
  
* * *  
  
Drizzt walked up slowly behind Entreri. The human was looking stoically into the empty arena. The collection of apprentices that usually attended the fights was assembling. Styne and Gunthor stood against the wall patiently.  
Entreri recognized Drizzt's presence silently. The two both thought they would probably fight next. Drizzt turned to the human to start to say something, but held his question in check. He looked puzzled, was about to speak again, but didn't.  
"What is it?" Entreri finally asked. "What moral lesson do you wish to impart?"  
Drizzt frowned. "It's not that," he said. "It's . . ." he paused again. "Do you know what DNA is?"  
The assassin didn't get a chance to respond as an apprentice walked up to them. "Drizzt Do'Urden, you are wanted in the arena."  
Drizzt and Entreri both noted with interest that only one of them was summoned. Drizzt walked slowly up to the edge of the ring and looked over at Styne and Gunthor, but neither of them moved. But if he wasn't going to fight Gunthor . . . Drizzt watched as Druia entered from the far side of the cavern.  
"No!" The drow ran over to stop the woman from entering this fight. When he was still 100 feet from her, he was thrown violently back. Drizzt shook the cobwebs from his head and propped himself up with his hands against the dirt floor. Dirt floor! He was in the ring! He had foolishly run into the arena, and now he was committed to the fight having just been thrown to the ground by the force shield. But he still had a chance to keep Druia from entering.  
The female fighter slowly walked up the two steps on the side of the ring. "Druia, think about this," Drizzt said, standing and pushing up against the inside of the dome. "You do not want to step in here."  
"No?" she asked. There was a look in her eye. Drizzt could see it clearly. It gave him hope.  
"Think about this. Turn around, refuse the fight. You will be sent back home with no knowledge this ever took place. You can live the rest of your life in relative peace."  
Druia did think about it. After her fight with Enrique she had proven to herself all that she needed to know. She could fight against the best and hold her own. If pride was what had brought her to the tournament, then she had fulfilled that need. Now, what was the point in continuing? If Drizzt had not accidentally run into the ring, and she had stepped in first, he probably would have declined. Did she owe him that same respect?  
Drizzt could see her mind working it all out. "Yes. Look down deep. You know this isn't what you want. To die here is not the way your life should end."  
"I would die here?" she asked quizzically, Drizzt not picking up on her slight change in demeanor.  
"If not against me, than against Entreri or Gunthor. Look down deep, do you really think you can win?"  
The change that came over her was pretty obvious now. "Step back." Her voice was cold and final.  
"Druia, please-" but his comment was cut short as her pike came out and elongated in a flash. He leaped backwards and ducked, rolling under the swipe. Druia calmly stepped through the one-way barrier. The ring was locked now. The only way they would get out on their own was for one of them to kill the other.  
Drizzt stood slowly and backed further into the center of the ring. Druia held her pike calmly in front of her, ready to go. "Why?" Drizzt asked, a pleading look in his eyes.  
"Because," Druia replied and attacked.  
Drizzt had not yet drawn either of his blades and did not do so now. Instead he ducked and dodged, kicking and punching where he could. His arms without weapons in them, didn't have the reach to score any hits on the powerful young woman as long as she held her pike.  
Druia went through a series of repeated thrusts trying to get the drow to back-pedal. It worked, and Drizzt sensed he was nearing the edge of the ring. He had seen too many people already crash into the invisible barrier to fall for the same trick. Instead he braced his heel against the dome and dove forward under the next attack.  
Druia spun to cover her vulnerable back, but Drizzt had rolled much further than she had expected. When the drow came up his scimitars were out. Though there was a light in his lavender eyes, Twinkle was unusually dim. The blade usually glowed brightly in the heat of battle, but it did not do so now. Though Druia surely intended to kill Drizzt, the elf did not yet see her as an enemy. Instead, it was time for a lesson.  
Druia relaxed her stance when she saw that Drizzt was waiting for her. She slowly adjusted her grip on her pike and separated it into two pieces. She held each spike as if they were swords. Drizzt didn't know how affective they would be, though. They had no blades, only a sharp point at the end, and there was no hilt either, meaning he could slide each strike down the length of the weapon and cut into her hands. As if on cue, the shafts magically opened just above the handles and formed rudimentary, but functional cross pieces.  
Drizzt nodded at her respectfully and then attacked.  
When Matron Malice had sacrificed Zaknafein many years ago, she had promoted Drizzt to weapons master of House Do'Urden. Drizzt had never served his house one day in that capacity. It wasn't because of lack of skill or desire to teach, but because he did not want to live the life of a drow warrior. He despised everything about that lifestyle.  
Now, though, he was a weapon master. He had trained Catti-brie briefly, but as good as the woman was, Drizzt could never spar at full speed with her, and she only used one weapon. Druia was fast and strong. Her weapons moved in a blur that should have been impossible to follow. But Drizzt was in his element. He parried the strikes smoothly and efficiently. He was a weapon master and Druia would learn more than one lesson today. The question was: Would she live long enough to use them?  
Druia thought she was being original as she wove her spikes about in a dizzying array of skill and speed, but Drizzt had seen it all before a thousand times. The drow was yet to go on the offensive, but he wanted to wait. He wanted to wait to make the transition until Druia realized that she was not going to hit him.  
It wasn't as if Druia could never beat him. She had thrown him into a table earlier, but when the two of them were ready and poised for battle; when neither was pulling a sneak attack on the other and everything was straight up; in other words, when everything was equal, they were not.  
Drizzt saw the frustrated look on Druia's face and smiled. He took a block high, and rolled over the round weapon, getting inside and poking toward her chest. Druia's other weapon came up hard and fast to deflect it, and then had to hop back as Drizzt's other weapon sought out her side.  
As quick as you could blink, Drizzt was now on the offensive. Unlike the well-trained drow, Druia had not seen it all. She had learned fighting weaponless against monks and then with weapons against thugs and mercenaries, hardly comparable with spending ten years in Melee Magthere.  
Drizzt taught her traditional drow attack patterns which seemed childish to him, partly because that was when he had learned them, but Druia back-pedaled furiously. Drizzt with the magical bracers on his ankles, kept up with her just fine. When she was composed, she could use her monk-like abilities to move side to side instantly, but Drizzt was always ready for her. He was dictating the flow of battle, and he knew where there were openings and where there were not.  
Drizzt decided to give her the advanced course. He moved her weapons high with a serious quick attacks and then struck down in the quintessential move: the double thrust low. Druia had no way to know the correct parry for that strike and had to leap suddenly back. Drizzt swung his blades back up at an angle as he stepped in hard.  
Druia's weapons were knocked wide, leaving her chest open. Drizzt rushed in, striking out with his hilts, but Druia was too fast for that and ducked and rolled backwards. She came out of the roll quickly and leaped high and back out of the way, resetting the battle.  
"You're quick," Drizzt observed.  
"You're good," Druia admitted.  
"Thanks." The drow bowed. "Shall we continue?"  
Druia said nothing but walked back in. She joined her pike back together so she could initiate the attack with the longer weapon, and then just as quickly separated them again. Drizzt accepted the defensive role wanting to see her reaction to the last session. Drizzt felt he had obviously overpowered her, and if he had to guess, right now she was being fueled on pride.  
Drizzt wasn't surprised to see many of his attacks mirrored in her routine. And as her attacks took an upward angle, he wasn't at all surprised to see the spikes come down hard in an adequate facsimile of the double thrust low. Drizzt not only knew the traditional parry, he also knew the proper variation of it.  
His scimitars snapped down in an "X", his arms straining against the strong young woman to pull her weapons apart. The were locked in that position for a second before Drizzt kicked out with his boot. Druia was too close to escape and took the heel hard in the gut. Her wind was momentarily knocked out of her as Drizzt dropped and spun, attempting to cut her legs out from under her.  
She was stumbling, but managed to leap over the attack. Drizzt counted on it and angled his attack up, cutting into her leg. She was off balance as it was, and when her injured leg failed to give her the support she had counted on when she landed, she fell hard to her back.  
Drizzt moved in a blur, knocking her weapon aside and securing her wrists. He smiled at her as Twinkle started to glow at her throat. "Lesson number one: You can not beat anyone you want."  
"What do you mean?" she spat back.  
"You walk into each encounter always expecting to win. You won't. No one in all the realms is that good. There is no such thing as 'The Best Fighter.' We are all vulnerable."  
Deltrophan and the rest of the audience could not hear Drizzt's words and leaned in anxiously, wondering what was taking so long for the killing blow to strike. "Finish it!" The mage finally shouted.  
Drizzt didn't even bother to look at the mage. Instead he sheathed his weapons, and extended a hand to Druia. She didn't take it right away. "What are you doing?"  
"Helping you up."  
"But the contest . . . the rules . . . the tournament. One of us has to kill the other."  
"Lesson number two: There are no rules. No one can tell you what to do. We live our lives as we see fit. If you feel others will hold fast to fair play then you won't live very long."  
"If you don't finish this fight . . ." she grabbed his offered hand, "then I will." She pulled hard as she stood, swinging with her free arm. The punch caught Drizzt in the face, spinning him completely around. He hands came up to his face instead of dropping to his weapons, but she was too fast. She punched him twice more in the face, feinting his blocks out of the way, and slugged him hard in the gut. She finally leveled a spinning kick to his head and he was down in the dirt.  
She stood over him quickly, a retrieved spike leveled at his throat before he could get up. Drizzt was smiling, and Druia paused. There should have been blood on his teeth. As hard as she had hit him in the face the inside of his cheeks should be lacerated. He should at least have a split lip. Unless he had rolled with the punches.  
"You took a dive," she accused.  
Drizzt nodded.  
"I can kill you right now, you know that?"  
"Yes, you can."  
Druia's arm shook as she tried to hold her spike steady. How could she claim victory when she knew she was not the better fighter? "Lesson number three?"  
Drizzt nodded.  
Deltrophan was still standing in front of his chair. "Finish it!" he cried again.  
Druia did look back at him and then at Entreri and then Gunthor. Deltrophan would probably have her fight both of them instead of letting her take the winner of the two. If Entreri was equal to Drizzt, she would lose. It was humbling to know she was vulnerable, but some how it also felt nice to finally be at peace with her pride. She tossed her spike aside and offered Drizzt a hand.  
"You must fight!" Deltrophan hollered. He was already standing and moved to the edge of his elevated platform. "You will fight!"  
Both Druia and Drizzt turned to look at the enraged wizard. They didn't say anything but stood placidly in opposition to Deltrophan's fury. "I will not tolerate this insubordination!"  
To Drizzt and Druia the sound in the chamber changed suddenly. A faint humming ceased. Drizzt had lived the past few years on a boat, and the gentle rocking of the Sea Sprite had become so common place, that only when they docked did he notice that the ground beneath his feet was not supposed to sway. It was like that now. The humming was far more noticeable in its absence than its presence. Neither Drizzt nor Druia liked the sound of it. The shield had been taken down.  
Deltrophan motioned dramatically with his hands as he cast, something he rarely did. A grotesque green wave of energy flew from his palms and splashed into nothing a dozen feet in front of the prone fighters. "What?" Deltrophan looked confused. The shield had popped back into place. He lowered the shield once more, cast again, and got the same result. The shield jumped back into existence just as the spell approached. From a dark corner of the cavern, Styne looked on with a sly grin. It was too easy.  
Almost anyone with some dexterity could juggle three balls. It was a rather simple pattern and rhythm. Adding a 4th or 5th was what separated the novices from the experts. Once you added the 5th, adding a 6th or 7th wasn't as hard. That was how it was for Styne now. He had been able to juggle his rudimentary magic that just about any mage who put the time in could do, but now that he had jumped to the next level, he was finding it easier and easier to unravel Deltrophan's magical barriers.  
The spell the host mage was trying to cast was considerable, and even though his spell list was far in excess of any other living mage, it was not infinite, and before he wasted another spell he was going to figure out what was going on. Styne knew this and decided to get the confrontation under way. He thought he would be nervous when this time came, but he seemed as calm as ever. He dropped a few protection spells over himself and stepped out to face his nemesis.  
Deltrophan noticed the movement below and saw that Styne's gaze on him was wrought from more than just curiosity. "Are you responsible for this?" he asked, not willing to believe it. He had paid the battle mage no attention at all before now, trusting his apprentices who had let him onto this island. If he truly needed to be here for Gunthor's sake, then so be it. He had hosted fighters with odder requirements.  
"Don't tell me you don't recognize me?" Styne answered with a hurt voice. "Though, it has been a lifetime, hasn't it?"  
Deltrophan was tired of games. He did not recognize him, and would not. He cast a clairvoyance spell, and everything became clear. "You should not have come back Garristyne." The older mage saw his attire and massive broadsword. "You will find that your insistence of dividing your efforts has made you weak. A mage's strength is in his mind, not his arm."  
Yeltriz was hovering next to Deltrophan and smiled at the old apprentice. "Kill him master."  
Styne just smiled in return. "Though your body might not have aged, your mind has grown weak with time, Deltrophan. I have not come unprepared." With that Styne hurled a sphere of energy at his feet.  
The cavern shook as the sphere exploded in a blue shockwave. The circumference of the blast filled the cavern in an instant and passed through the walls, shaking the island to its core. All those present could feel the earth tremble as the shockwave filled the island, and then, like an arrow at the peak of its climb about to fall back down, the energy slowed, hesitated, and then came rushing back in. It exploded into a plume of light, wiping away any shadow.  
Everyone stood silent, waiting for some effect to take place. Druia and Drizzt waited patiently, protected within the arena. Entreri had moved to stand next to the ring as well. The sponsors had all fled while Gunthor stood emotionlessly along the wall. Deltrophan was about to laugh at the feeble attempt to scare him when spiraling swirls of blue energy began to wisp about in the cavern.  
Figures hunkered and weary began to materialize on the stone floor amidst the swirls. There were four, then eight, then a dozen, then two dozen. "Who are they?" Druia asked. "What are they?"  
Drizzt didn't know either until he spotted a familiar troll. The creature had been banished by Deltrophan at the dinner they had all attended at the beginning of the tournament. "Styne must have cast a freedom spell, freeing all the fighters Deltrophan had banished over the years."  
"But they were banished in the dinning hall?" Druia said, knowing a bit about how the spell should work.  
"Styne's spell must have gathered them all here," Drizzt replied.  
"What about the ones that were banished here?"  
Drizzt turned around slowly. Behind them three energy swirls were just spiraling into dissipation, leaving behind three figures. All three were human, and their attire showed traces of wizardry. Drizzt remembered Enrique's tale of his fight with Cayne and figured they had all been banished for using magic in the arena. Two were hunkered over, their minds severely disorganized and frayed. The third was not so bad off.  
"Where is he?" Cayne spoke clearly. His eyes were bright and his speech clear. He seemed to require no time to adjust to his new surroundings as if he had been waiting for this moment for 250 years. "Where is the demon spawn that exiled me? Where is Deltrophan?"  
At the name of the hated mage, the other two fighters seem to gain some coherence and turned to Cayne as some sort of leader. Drizzt didn't know what 250 years in an infinite maze would do to his mind, but it had made Cayne as sharp as a tack. His eyes searched out his surroundings and found Deltrophan standing atop his platform and eyeing up the collection of fighters Styne had brought back to haunt him.  
"We are trapped within a force shield," Drizzt said quickly, before Cayne could react to Deltrophan's presence.  
"That is easily taken care of," he responded. He turned to the other two fighters that had come with him, both of which had started to drool. He loosed a lightning bolt of devastating power on one, disintegrating him instantly, and as the other charged, he drew both his rapiers, and hacked him to pieces. Since the shield had only sensed Druia and Drizzt enter the arena, it had only needed one life force to end. That being satisfied, the remaining three fighters inside were once again exposed to the outside elements.  
The outside was turning more chaotic each moment. A few of the fighters summoned had retained their sanity, but the rest were mindless creatures lashing out at everything around them. They were immune to all forms of mind magic, but Styne tried to work with them anyway. Instead of trying to control them or attack them, he played with their memories, reminding them who had sent them there.  
The few apprentices who stood guard in the cavern had taken a defensive position at the base of their master's platform and around the arena, all facing the collection of fighters. Their fingertips were sparking with contained energy, but they understood their place and waited for their signal.  
Once all of the fighters had recognized Deltrophan and turned their attention toward him, the elevated mage laughed. "Good play. Now let's have some fun." Deltrophan had set the entire cavern up as one giant summoning circle, and he used it now, calling three high level demons into existence, each as quickly as a conjurer might produce a coin. The Tanar'ri all stood between Deltrophan and the fighters.  
The two armies regarded each other for a few tense moments. Deltrophan stood behind half a dozen apprentice mages, each an apprentice only in name for they had been chosen for their advanced skill and could control cities back on the realm if it be their desire. The three demons also stood poised, their claws snapping and their mouths agape. Deltrophan had called on their service more than once, and each time he had, it was more than worth it to respond to the summoning.  
Styne's army was less formidable, but three times the size and just as determined as the foes they faced. Each fighter was at the top of his craft. Few had been banished for being worthless cretins, but most had been used as examples for others at the tournament. Those who had managed to cope with the torturous maze were of a single mind. The images they had toyed with over the past centuries of cutting apart their source of agony were now within reach.  
Styne had also brought Gunthor to life. The battle mage did want to have to be burdened with the responsibility of controlling the huge golem while he conducted this battle, so he had simply breathed life into him. He understood the spell for eternal life and by combining it with the school of necromancy, creating life was not that difficult. The golem still had no brain, but it did have a purpose: kill.  
Entreri had wisely jumped up into the ring with Druia and Drizzt. Cayne had left the arena to go stand next to Warrick, the champion that had preceded Enrique and had been banished at the beginning of the last tournament on a whim. Both fighters were fresh and focused. The tension in the cavern was getting thick.  
"Kill them!" Deltrophan finally commanded. "Kill them all."  
And then . . . all hell broke loose. 


	12. The Final Round

Chapter 11  
The Final Round  
  
Fire, ice, and lightning. The cavern became filled with it.  
After what seemed an hour to Drizzt, Druia, and Entreri, who watched from a neutral position in the ring, the casting ceased and the collected mages peered through the smoke to see what remained.  
Even the weakest of fighters present were in possession of magical protection, though some were better equipped than others. The troll that had been banished at dinner, along with two other trolls, was pretty much vaporized. Seven other lower level creatures such as orcs and ogres had been thrown far from the gathering, and only four of the original seven stirred. Others, human and elven, lay on the ground writhing in pain or not moving at all.  
The initial attack had cut the effectiveness of Styne's army in half, but the first strike advantage was over, and the mages could now only cast mass damage spells at the risk of injuring themselves. The remaining fighters were quite formidable too.  
There was a barbarian, a look-a-like for Wulfgar, though he carried a mace and was dressed as a druid, likely the reason he was unaffected by the elemental attacks. Warrick and Cayne had both seemed to shrug off the magical blasts, Cayne likely offering protection to both of them. Gunthor was singed, but his magical skin had held up well. There were three dwarves also who were now hairless, but twice as enraged.  
They all charged.  
The dwarves, barbarian, and Gunthor went for the Tanar'ri who greeted them warmly, killing two of the dwarves instantly. Gunthor, with the Thunder Blade swinging freely, attacked one of the demons, while the Barbarian parried a few strikes from another, dealing his own damage in turn.  
Warrick hung back as Styne and Cayne, two battle mages, initiated attacks against the apprentices. Protections were brought down and offensive spells struck home, sending the mages in retreat. Warrick jumped in after too long, cleaning up what Styne and Cayne left behind.  
Deltrophan looked on from above with interest. "This is different," Yeltriz said, hovering over his shoulder. The mage cast the familiar a sarcastic look, but didn't say anything. He didn't like it.  
The demon fighting Gunthor was stumbling in retreat, more in shock than injury. The Tanar'ri's back came up against the cavern wall directly beneath Deltrophan's observation perch, and he could no longer back pedal. He lashed out, but Gunthor parried and returned the favor. He took off an arm. It was the first time the demon had fought against someone that might actually be stronger than he was. It was also the last time he would fight against someone that might actually be stronger than he was - or anyone at all, for that matter.  
Gunthor took the creature's head, and then turned to backstab the demon fighting the barbarian. The druid was sorely pressed, but as Gunthor cut deep into the back of the Tanar'ri's knee, the creature buckled, and the barbarian leaped forward, crushing bones with his mace. As the last demon finished off the remaining dwarf, he turned to face Gunthor, the druid, and half a dozen more fighters behind them.  
The lesser creatures that had been hurled from the main fight by the initial strike had all sense knocked out of them and charged to fight the first enemies that presented themselves. The trio in the ring was as good as any. "On guard," Entreri suddenly cried when he saw the orcs and ogres coming at them.  
The other two fighters turned as well, Drizzt being the lucky one to take on two of the four creatures. He batted aside two axe attacks with one blade in a quick crossing parry and dropped into crouch to lash out at an exposed knee. He ended up having to use his second weapon to parry as the exposed legs kicked at him.  
His parry cut deep into an orc's leg, and Drizzt popped back up, sidestepping to put the injured orc between him and his other adversary. Even not hobbled, the pathetic creature didn't have much of a chance. It reared back with its axe, and Drizzt cut him down before the attack could even start.  
The orc fell, and the much bigger ogre stepped over him. Drizzt caught his attack with both weapons, and watched as a dirk slipped in under the parry, and opened a gash in the ogre's chest. Drizzt turned long enough to see that Entreri's first foe was lying in a pool of blood and then turned back to the ogre to work on making another such pool.  
Though plenty strong, the ogre couldn't stand up against the four blades from both Drizzt and Entreri who attacked in perfect harmony. As he fell, they both turned to find Druia. She was just pulling her bloodied pike from the ogre that had attacked her. "We need to get out of here," she said.  
Entreri turned to look at the scene Druia saw and concurred. The apprentices had lost two of their number so far, and were huddled beneath a similar spell to the one that normally protected the arena. It protected them from physical attack, but it could be cast through. The apprentices were doing plenty of that. Their hold spells were useless against the fighters whose minds were far too honed for that. Styne and Cayne were countering their damage spells. Eventually they resorted to summoning spells. Gates began to open up all over the cavern and the most horrid creatures began to pour out of them. The third Tanar'ri was just being finished off by a swarm of fighters as these new horrors invaded the fight.  
Styne stood in the middle trying to give orders to his fighters as the hoards swarmed around them. Deltrophan eyed him hatefully. He cast again. Another gate to the abyss opened up, and while his apprentices were summoning lower denizens, Deltrophan brought forth a balor. The creature stepped into the cavern right behind Styne, holding its vorpal great sword tight in its muscled arms.  
Styne felt the heat of his enemy one moment before his life would have ended. He drew his own broadsword for the first time, turning and parrying. Though tall, the battle mage wasn't a third as big as his opponent and should have been crushed by the blow, parry or not. Instead Styne actually pushed back, sparks flying from his weapon.  
The balor stumbled back, and Styne fell inside himself with a spell. A column of lightning fell on him like some beefed up priest spell, but this strike wasn't doing damage. Quite the opposite, the strike brought a primeval scream from the battle mage and his size doubled. The lighting vanished as the balor stepped back in, but Styne was now 10 feet tall, his sword a match in size to the balor's, and lighting coursed through everything.  
The balor hesitated, and then died. Styne's sword spat out lighting like a weapon arcing water in a rainstorm. His first attack bashed the vorpal greatsword out of the way, and the second blasted a hole in balor's chest large enough for a horse to ride through.  
Styne was on a blood lust spell, and as his eyes scanned the cavern, he saw only one target he cared about. With a great leap, Styne flew through the air and landed on the ledge next to Deltrophan. The ancient mage regarded his former student casually as his electric blade came slashing down from 10 feet up. The blade hit in invisible barrier, and the shock threw Styne across the small hollowed area and crashing into the cavern wall.  
Yeltriz thought that this would be a good time to make himself scarce. He should have winked out of the cavern, but the fight was far too entertaining to leave. Instead he flew high up into an empty corner of the cavern and dropped an invisibility spell on himself.  
  
* * *  
  
"We need to go," Druia repeated.  
The other two had nodded in agreement the first time she had said it, but then they had just stood, staring in awe at the carnage around them. Cayne had taken over the foot army in Styne's absence, and it looked pretty even. For every fighter that fell, two or three of the summoned creatures did likewise. More and more attention was being directed toward the mages, and it wouldn't be long before their protections fell down and it got real messy.  
"Guys?" Druia said again. "We need to go."  
"Yes," Entreri agreed. He turned to Drizzt expectantly.  
The drow finally regarded the other two, pulling his eyes away from the battle that was going on around them. It took him a while to realize they were waiting on him, and then even longer to remember what they had just said. "No," he said.  
"What?" Druia and Entreri said in unison.  
"We need to stay." He remembered why Thelania had asked him to come. His presence here was supposed to bring about the end of this tournament and bring to ruin its awful reign of evil. "We need to see this end."  
"I agree it is entertaining," Entreri replied, "but we have no need to stay."  
"Then we leave him," Druia said to Entreri.  
"You two know how to sail a ship by yourselves?" Drizzt asked as they started to leave. "I don't know another way home. I've spent the past 3 years on a ship, and feel confident I can get us off the island. If you want to escape, you better make sure I get out of here in one piece."  
Druia and Entreri looked at each other briefly and then shrugged. "You can start with them," Drizzt said, motioning behind them. Entreri and Druia turned to see two hellcats jump up into the arena. Drizzt looked back to the ledge.  
Styne picked himself up, noticing with regret that the blow had ended his blood lust spell, and he was back to his normal stature. Either way, he towered over Deltrophan and felt he still had a chance. He walked toward his former master with his sword ready, inviting Deltrophan to initiate the attack. The older mage obliged, summoning forth half a dozen Mordenkainen's swords and a couple bows. The magically animated blades swarmed Styne, sending the battle mage into a flurry of action, swinging his broadsword in every direction at once. The bows turned their attention to the hoards below.  
As the arrows came raining down, Drizzt recalled the arrow in his boot. "Do either of you have a bow?"  
Entreri and Druia had dispatched the hellcats, but mephits had taken their place. As Druia knocked one of them to the ground senseless, she turned to look at the drow. "What?"  
"I need a bow," he said again, holding Styne's magical arrow aloft.  
Druia sighed and shrunk her pike to about half its usual size. She removed a gold chain from her neck and uncurled it. The chain was about three and a half feet long with a small hoop at each end. She quickly looped each end of the necklace over the tips of her pike and then elongated it again.  
For a second, Drizzt thought the chain would break as it snapped tight, but instead the magical pike bowed under the pull of the chain. "Nice weapon," Drizzt admired as she held the transformed pike. He motioned for it, but Druia shook her head. Instead she motioned for the arrow. Drizzt conceded and tossed her the arrow.  
"A little help," Entreri called. Zombies had replaced the mephits. Drizzt leaped past Druia and engaged the half dozen creatures with Entreri.  
"But who do I shoot?" Druia asked.  
"Just hold on," Drizzt said, turning the tied of the battle with Entreri at his side.  
Around the mages below, their shield of protection finally fell and the fighters came in hard. The apprentices were powerful, but they did not spend their days practicing melee spells. Deltrophan had them spend most of their time in meditation and enlightenment, studying the life around them and discerning its power. Now the life around them was trying to take theirs away, and there was no doubt about its power.  
"Master!"  
The cry came from more than one mage as the group dropped stone skins over themselves and began to lash out with short range damage spells. Deltrophan took a moment to turn from the entertaining fight with Styne to answer the call. "Must I do everything," he muttered to himself. With a spin of his wrist he summoned an opal sphere and hurled it across the cavern. It exploded against the far wall, opening a new corridor. A brief moment passed, and then hundreds of goblins came pouring out of the opening, screaming and waving their weapons.  
"Mother of . . ." Entreri muttered. "Need some more help," he called out almost casually over his shoulder.  
Druia turned with her bow ready, but Drizzt stopped her. "No, not at them."  
The sea of goblins was seconds from crashing over them. "If not them, then who, pray tell?" Entreri asked, bracing his feet on the dirt floor of the ring.  
"Deltrophan," Drizzt responded, "but it has to be just right."  
Druia quickly unformed her bow, stowed the arrow, and stood beside her companions to meet the charge. Her long weapon swung ahead, causing the lead goblins to rear up briefly, but its 500 friends behind didn't get the memo, and crashed ahead. A growing pile formed in front of the trio, and the three of them stepped into the small clearing it formed, like a river flowing around a rock.  
The majority of the goblins were focused on the rest of the fighters anyway. Though each of the remaining fighters were easily ten times the skill of any goblin, those were about what the odds were, and the fighters had a difficult choice as to whom they were going to turn their backs on. Fortunately for them, the goblins could not tell friend from foe, and the apprentices had just as much to be worried about.  
Deltrophan looked at the chaos below him and smiled. This was highly entertaining. If it got out of hand, he could call down a few meteor showers and decimate the goblin hoard so he could pick off each individual fighter, but for now he enjoyed the action. He turned his eyes back to Styne who had finally wised up to the fact that the animated weapons were immune to physical damage. He dropped a couple fireballs at his feet, and soon the swords were lying in a charred pile beside him.  
Styne was exhausted and looked up at his former master. "Don't cut out on me now," Deltrophan mocked.  
Styne exploded into motion. Lighting shot out from his weapon as he slashed about at the stationary mage. His blade moved back and forth, his arms pumping in and out and he rained down his fury on the immortal mage. None of the strikes came close. The barrier around Deltrophan wasn't going anywhere. It would not disappear after a certain number of hits. The power to sustain it came from within him so Styne could no easier dispel it than he could dispel all of Deltrophan's power. The mage was invulnerable.  
Down below, Drizzt, Druia, and Entreri worked in perfect harmony. The two males had never fought with the woman before, but she adjusted her style to match theirs, separating her pike into two pieces and fending off the goblins around her as the trio stood with their backs in.  
Soon the flood of goblins ceased, and the herd started to thin as they spread about the cavern. Druia cleared a path and allowed Drizzt and Entreri to fill her void as she transformed her weapon into a bow again. She eyed up the target Drizzt had given her and prepared to fire. Before she let go she watched as Styne hammered away at the impenetrable shield around the mage and then as Deltrophan tossed him like a rag doll across the alcove.  
"This is supposed to do damage?" Druia asked above the constant sound of steel on steel around them.  
"Styne told me it would be able to break through Deltrophan's protections," the drow replied as he dispatched two goblins.  
"Well, Styne doesn't seem to be doing too good of a job of that now."  
Drizzt suddenly broke away from the fight bringing a startled reaction from Entreri, "What?" The assassin was suddenly faced with all five of the goblins they had been facing.  
Drizzt turned to look at the ledge and Styne's inept attempt to battle the powerful mage. Behind him, a goblin lunged for a backstab, but Entreri reacted first, thrusting out with his dirk. He was too distant for a direct strike, so he flung it as he stabbed, impaling the far goblin, but leaving him with one weapon against four foes. It still wasn't fair.  
Entreri ducked one blow and then moved to the right as the two goblins at his left lunged in. He stabbed out beneath the far right goblin's attack, catching him under the ribs. Entreri fed off the jolt of energy from his life stealing dagger, and his empty left hand snaked out for the missed attack of one of the goblins on the left. He locked wrists with the doomed creature, and turned its short sword back on itself. The human shoved the blade so hard back under its chin that the tip of the blade poked out the back of its head.  
Entreri heaved the dead goblin around, catching the other left goblin with the protruding tip right in its temple. The first goblin, whose attack Entreri had originally ducked, was bowled over by the two dead goblins, and as Entreri pulled his dagger from his first victim, he quickly finished the fourth.  
Two more goblins came in from the side, thinking to spread Entreri's attention and catch his unaware companions in the back. The assassin leaped over to his thrown weapon, pulled it free, and stabbed out on either side with his arms spread eagle. The goblins were used to sparing with each other and were unprepared for the length of Entreri's reach.  
Two other goblins felt lucky, and seeing the assassin's weapons sheathed in their companions and his arms out wide, they attacked head on. Entreri's foot came up fast, catching one under the chin, breaking its neck, and then swept his dirk in from the left, taking the other goblin's head.  
"You guys plan on help . . ." Entreri started to say over his shoulder, but three more goblins came in swinging.  
Drizzt didn't pay the assassin any mind, confident he could handle himself and feeling his attention needed to be elsewhere. He watched as Styne was turned away time and again. "He said this arrow will pass through Deltrophan's protections," Drizzt said, but Druia could tell he didn't really believe it.  
"And even if it could," Druia argued unnecessarily, "don't you think he would feel it coming and would have half a dozen spells that will keep it from ever getting near him.  
"But Styne is counting on this arrow to be effective," Drizzt said, not really arguing with her, but trying to figure out what to do.  
"If it is keyed to work against his magic then maybe it will be more effective against one of the apprentices." Druia turned her bow to the battle below and beside them, picking out the leader of the apprentices.  
"No," Drizzt said, lightly grabbing her arm, careful not to make her fire prematurely. "It has to be directed at Deltropahan."  
"But . . ." Druia started, stopping when she saw a light go on in the drow's eyes.  
"We can attack him indirectly," he said. Another light went on in the elf's eyes, but this one had a reddish hue to it as he switched over to his night vision. "There," he pointed up at a corner in the cavern ceiling.  
"What," Druia asked, not seeing anything.  
Drizzt called forth magical fairie fire and soon a small glowing outline was visible. Yeltriz had been enjoying the fight so far. From his vantage point he could see everything. Well, almost everything. He didn't notice Drizzt and Druia pointing at him. He didn't notice the arrow streaking toward him. And since he was dead a half second later, he didn't really have time to notice the arrow cleaving his skull in two. The imp had been protected by powerful magic, but like Styne had promised, the arrow passed right through.  
A shockwave filled the cavern as the imp fell to the ground. It wasn't a physical disturbance, but a spiritual one. Everyone in the cavern suddenly had the eerie sensation of walking through a graveyard. The island was sustained by Deltrophan. Everything about the island was centered around his life giving immortality. And now death coursed through the mage's soul.  
The link between mage and familiar is far more intimate than most mages would have you know. That union leaves the mages very vulnerable. A familiar's life is a portal into the soul of the mage. Just as a familiar gains incredible power through the life of a mage, a mage can lose incredible power through the death of their familiar.  
Deltrophan stumbled and clutched his chest. His face went pale and the glow of power around him flickered. Styne was slowly pulling himself from the ground after being hurled into the cavern wall once more as he noticed the change. He glanced toward the ring and saw Druia lowering her bow and just caught a glimpse of a purple outline crashing to the ground.  
"Very clever," he muttered to himself. Deltrophan was vulnerable now, but like with any wound, the powerful mage would recover. Even now, two seconds after the killing blow, Styne might be too late. The battle mage didn't wait any longer and leaped up from the ground with renewed strength. Deltrophan was just catching his breath when Styne struck.  
The broadsword hit the barrier around the mage, and as lightning flashed and sparked from the collision, the magical shield shuddered and then collapsed. The jagged edge of Styne's weapon bit hard into his former master. He pulled it free and then took his turn flinging the mage into the alcove wall.  
As Deltrophan landed, Styne could see there was no blood on his robe, and the gash was already starting to close. Deltrophan was weak, but he would not die easily. The battle mage raced over to him, impaling him on his tremendous sword and then spinning around and hurling him into the opposite wall. His cloak was now charred with lightning, but there was still no blood, and the hole in his chest which should have taken his heart was closing fast. Styne was going to need help.  
He looked down at the fight below and smiled. The apprentices had gotten used to feeding off the life force of the island, but as that was waning now, their spells began to misfire and the fighters and goblins around them were turning the tide. Styne spotted Cayne, the other battle mage, and summoned him to join in the fight against the mage who had banished him to a quarter millennia of torture. Within seconds, the other Cayne was standing over Deltrophan, taking his vengeance.  
Before Styne turned to join him, he took another long look at the battle below. At least eight good fighters would survive this battle as well as several score of goblins. This was his army. He had rescued them from Deltrophan's banishment. They owed him allegiance. They would continue to be his army. Spying out the exits from the main cavern, he quickly closed all but one with lightning strikes and then gave mental instructions to Gunthor to guard the remaining one. "No one shall leave!"  
  
* * *  
  
"We have to leave," Druia said.  
Finally Drizzt agreed. "Yes, we need to go."  
The goblins were about as intelligent as the stone wall they had been summoned from, but even a stone wall knew to stay clear of Drizzt and Entreri. After the pair had dispatched two dozen of the creatures, the rest of the goblins left them alone for the most part. There were still the hell spawn summoned creatures the apprentice mages had brought into the cavern, but they were thinning, and with the mages' attention elsewhere, they were not being replaced.  
As volatile as the fighting around them had become, there was a far more pressing matter that spurned the trio out of the ring and onto the cavern floor, running toward the exit: the cavern was collapsing. Drizzt had lived half his life underground and had learned to sense these things. He obviously did not have the same connection with the stone as a svirfnebli, but the drastic change in the stability did not require that level of attention.  
Druia had been trained by monks to always be aware of her surroundings and feel the power of nature. She could feel that power now and could sense the crumbling stone around them. The island had been supported by the life of Deltrophan, and as it faded, so did the island.  
Entreri had no such upbringing or training. He could not so easily sense the impending doom of the cavern. He did, however, have eyes, and as he watched cracks form in the walls and rock fall from the ceiling, he could reason what his companions could feel.  
The cavern floor was littered with bodies. Half of them were still fighting, while the other half were lying in piles preparing for what would shortly become the largest mass grave any of them had ever seen. Drizzt and Entreri led the way, hacking apart the goblins that didn't get out of their path fast enough. Drizzt ran with speed enhanced by the magical bracers he wore on his feet. Entreri moved with the agility acquired from navigating Calimport's alleys and rooftops at night. Druia moved fluidly through the mess like a bird finding the eye of the storm during a hurricane. It still seemed an eternity to all of them.  
Several of the more clever goblins thought like the trio. They were creatures who lived in caves, and even though they were magically created by Deltrophan, like everything else on the island, as the power of the mage faded, they returned to their primitive nature. Drizzt was leading the way, and for the last 20 feet of the sprint, six goblins joined him. Unlike Drizzt, the goblins did not stop in time to avoid the massive strike that cleaved them into pieces. Gunthor stood at the entry to the passage, his girth blocking the door.  
"Looks like Styne doesn't want us to leave just yet," Entreri said, pulling up short behind the drow.  
"One of us was going to have to face him anyway," Druia said, joining her companions as they all stared the massive guardian. He looked very much like a golem now, minding only those who violated his space, and then destroying those who did. "I guess this way we have the best chance."  
Beside the exit a few pebbles slid down the wall as a crack formed and a slight tremor shook the floor. "We better make this quick," Drizzt said. The drow stepped forward, and Gunthor reacted.  
  
* * *  
  
Up on the ledge, things were not looking good for either side. Deltrophan was losing, but he had not yet lost. His spell repertoire was limited to quick release. He attempted a few massive summoning spells or mind magic, but the incessant attacks from his adversaries interrupted him. Still, his magic missiles and fireballs drove Styne and Cayne back enough for the mage to compose himself and recoup from the attacks.  
The two battle mages countered with spells of their own briefly, before realizing that they were playing into Deltrophan's strength, and then resumed their physical attacks. They just weren't doing enough damage. His wounds healed too quickly, and he was still able to enact several protections against the blows.  
The three were oblivious to what was going around them whether it be the collapsing cavern or the fight going on below. They did not have time to pay any attention to anything other than the fight at hand. Any extra time would allow the other to formulate too much of a strategy. It was all hack and slash now.  
It was like bailing a sinking ship. You had to keep bailing. You couldn't stop. You might have the tools to fix the leak, but it would take too long, and in that time the ship would submerge. The only way to stay above water was to keep bailing until a better solution presented itself.  
Styne was sure he had a spell or two that could remove Deltrophan's protections, but the time necessary to prepare it would also give his opponent too much time to react. The longer they broke, the more the two of them would be returning to a level playing field. And while Styne felt he held the upper hand now, he knew that all things being equal, Deltrophan was still his superior.  
Deltrophan felt likewise. He had spells he could cast to sentence his attackers to several unimaginable torments, but if he neglected his healing spells or withdrew his attention from fending off their attacks, he would be hacked to pieces.  
The fight needed an interruption. It got one. A stalagmite fell. All three were aware enough to avoid the fall, but Cayne was too close to the edge and didn't have much room to dodge. The shattering limestone lacerated his face and eyes, and he dropped his weapons in pain.  
Deltrophan recovered first and recognized the battle mage's vulnerable condition. Cayne's mind was still too honed after his years in the maze to be susceptible to any form of magical banishment, but Deltrophan went a different path. The jaws of a massive elemental beast rose from the rock beneath the crippled battle mage. Deltrophan did not bother bringing forth the entire creature, for he did not have the time or the need.  
Cayne realized what was happening too late to react, and he never really did see what brought about his demise. But as the jaws closed around him and began to chew, slowly sinking back into the stone, Cayne's lack of awareness was the last thing on his mind, literally.  
This was not only Deltrophan's first real victory of the skirmish but also his first and last defeat. He reveled at the sight of the disappearing elemental a bit too long before turning to Styne. The electrically enchanted broadsword was in mid swing when Deltrophan saw it. He was hurled against the alcove's wall, and unlike before was unable to call forth a spell to repel Styne before the remaining battle mage closed in on him.  
Deltrophan stood and Styne impaled him. There would be no escape from this attack for Styne drove the jagged broadsword through his former master and into the stone wall behind him. The attack was final, but the wound was not. There was still magic protecting the impaled mage. He was immune to electricity, had a spell of clay form in effect, regenerative powers were at work, pain nullifiers cleared his mind, and as Styne gazed deep into his eyes, he found others. He went to work.  
Styne had solved the riddle that was Deltrophan. He had worked hard to understand the mage's magic, and now, as he had his former master pinned against the wall, a massive shaft of steel piercing his lungs requiring Deltrophan's every conscious effort to be devoted to keeping his mind from the pain, Styne slowly peeled away the protections like an onion.  
It seemed like days but was only minutes. Soon the two of them stood as if naked, stripped of their life's devotion. The magic was gone.  
Now it was time for the real magic to take place.  
  
* * *  
  
Drizzt stepped forward, and Gunthor brought his sword down hard. Drizzt nimbly jumped back, allowing the tremendous blade to pass in front of him, and then hopped back in, his two scimitars leading. Gunthor incredibly stopped his swing and brought the hilt back in hard. Drizzt ducked and then flattened himself on the ground as Gunthor adjusted his swing to compensate for his short opponent. The drow was in no position to strike and had to roll over and away, as the brute tried to stomp the life out of him.  
The cavern exit was too narrow for Drizzt, Entreri, and Druia to fight side-by-side, so the elf stepped back to draw Gunthor into the open. The animated golem didn't take the bait and stayed where he was.  
Druia and Entreri were poised on either side of the drow ready to join the fray, but all three paused in confusion when Gunthor didn't pursue. "Come on you mindless monster!" Druia cried. "Attack!"  
Nothing.  
Another small shower of rocks rolled down the side of the cavern wall next to the exit, reminding the trio that they didn't have time for this game of cat and mouse. "We need to move him out of there," Druia said, stating the obvious for the other two. They gave her sarcastic and frustrated looks.  
Another shudder went through the cavern wall in front of them, the stress of the collapsing stone bringing cracks into the sides of the exit. With Drizzt and Entreri looking at each other, an idea came to both of them.  
They each took two quick steps forward and tried to squeeze through on either side of the golem. The exit wasn't that narrow at six feet, but Gunthor wasn't narrow either. The mammoth fighter slammed his hip into one side of the opening in front of Drizzt, bringing another small shower of rocks and shutting off the gap the drow was trying to slip through, and he swung the Thunder Blade hard into the rock in front of Entreri bringing a much larger shower of rocks.  
Entreri stopped short, and dropped down to roll under the blade. As Gunthor tried to drag the blade down through the rock, he also kicked out to close the gap. Entreri bounced off the huge foot, and then rolled back as the Thunder Blade came down from above.  
Gunthor shifted his weight to Entreri's side, seeing that the much smaller and elusive human would eventually be able to find a gap, but that gave Drizzt an opening. It was only open for as long as it took Gunthor to bring his weapon back across his body and slamming into the other wall.  
Drizzt and Entreri worked the giant back and forth like this for several seconds before Druia realized their strategy. The width of the opening, thanks to Gunthor's mighty sword, had widened to almost eight feet. The brute was now dancing back and forth having to swing harder and faster to keep his enemies in front of him, widening the opening even more as his sword crashed into the weakening walls.  
There was no extra room for the woman to join on either side, but there was a narrow 2-foot gap over the golem's head. She took a few running steps forward and leaped for the gap. Gunthor saw her at the last second, and ignored his other two pests for a moment to bring his blade up vertically to block her.  
Druia held her pike horizontally in front of her, bracing herself for the collision. Gunthor stopped her, but didn't have time to properly throw her back, because Drizzt and Entreri were slipping past him. Drizzt, with his enchanted bracer's made it past, as Gunthor spread his legs wide to try and block the drow with his knee, but the golem's right hand was able to snag Entreri's trailing cape. Before Gunthor could haul the assassin in, Druia dropped to the ground, rolled through her enemy's wide spread legs, and used the sharp end of her pike to cut Entreri free.  
Gunthor spun around to see the three fighters racing up the corridor. The golem remembered his master's charge to let no one escape, and the chase was on.  
  
* * *  
  
Life.  
It is craved by all but truly understood by none. Its simple complexity (if such a concept is comprehensible) ridicules any notion that it could have come about by chance, evolving at the whims of chaos. Yet, to the untrained eye, that is exactly what it seemed to be: chaos.  
The idea of cells, DNA, amino acids, and reproduction are somewhat common terms among advanced civilizations, but even those enlightened citizens fall drastically short of comprehending their functions. Common place evidence of rudimentary actions belittles the complexity that is wrapped up beneath them.  
The five senses are understood by everyone, and while scientists can recreate the basic functions, does a camera know what it sees or a speaker understand what it says? These questions are best left unasked and unanswered. Perhaps the only thing more extraordinary than the complexity of life is the complete lack of necessity to understand it for survival. A man can live a long and healthy life without ever understanding how his body works. He can raise crops, hunt for food, and raise a family without ever understanding photosynthesis or the science behind reproduction.  
A mage can not cast a spell he knows nothing about. A worker can not operate a press without understanding how it works. These things need to be designed, built, and sustained. Life sustains itself. It does not need to be understood and does not need to be maintained.  
Unless you want to make it eternal.  
Deltrophan's life did not stem from himself. It was magically created and sustained. Unlike the spell that was cast upon tournament winners, his eternal life was not dependant on a beating heart or breathing lungs. Styne understood that spell, and as the two of them faced off, the battle mage dove into the magic - the magic of life. His strike had lifted Deltrophan off the ground so the two of them looked eye to eye.  
Styne's consciousness soared through the complexities of nature, spiraling around as he followed the helical pathways of life. On the surface Deltrophan seemed impenetrable. His heart was crushed and his lungs impaled. The wound in his chest grew as Styne slowly turned his blade, but the mage's life energy seemed as strong as ever. On the surface Deltrophan seemed impenetrable, but Styne did not stay on the surface.  
Styne dove in.  
  
* * *  
  
The escaping trio outdistanced Gunthor easily, but they all knew he had to be dealt with. The stone corridor did not last much longer before it exited into the palatial home of the host mage. Inside, the palace would be crawling with apprentices, most of who must be alerted to what was going on. There they would not have time to deal with Gunthor.  
While they did not know what he was, they could tell there was something unnatural and magical about him. The way he had guarded the corridor was as if he had been magically commanded. If that was the case, he would not give up his chase of them until that spell was dispelled or the three of them were killed.  
Drizzt paused as his senses told him they were only a few hundred feet from the exit of the cavern. "We need to do something about our pursuer."  
The other two nodded. "If I stun him, can you take him out?" Druia asked. Her weapon was not designed to take one someone of Gunthor's caliber. Drizzt and Entreri understood that as well, but that only puzzled them as to how she planned on stunning their mammoth enemy.  
She smiled at them disarmingly. "I have an idea," she said.  
A little bit further ahead, the corridor opened up considerably in all directions. It was a good ambush site, and as Drizzt and Entreri took up positions on either side, Druia placed herself above. The ceiling opened up before expanding to the sides, and Druia leaped high into the opening, extending her pike to full length so the pointed ends dug into the sides of the opening.  
Druia held on to her weapon like a trapeze artist, her toes five feet off the ground. Working up her momentum, she swung herself up into a handstand. She reversed her hands so she was facing the other way and waited.  
With her eyes closed Druia fell into a deep meditation. Soon the handstand felt as natural and balanced as standing on her feet. Her hands held her pike gently, feeling the vibrations of the cavern through her weapon. The cavern was definitely decaying, but amidst the cracking and creaking, she could feel distinct footfalls coming ever closer. Hiding in the ceiling alcove, Druia was invisible to anyone coming up the corridor. Likewise, she could not see Gunthor coming either.  
Drizzt and Entreri exchanged glances from opposite sides of the corridor waiting patiently and hoping their new friend knew what she was doing. As Druia felt Gunthor draw within a few running steps, she relaxed her body completely and swung down. She accelerated far beyond the pull of gravity, and her knees and ankles snapped like a whip, her feet a blur of motion. And while her moccasins look soft, they were fashioned from the hide of a magical white buffalo, and could assume any form or texture she desired.  
Gunthor ran straight into the attack, taking the blow to his chest as if he was hit by a sledge hammer swung by . . . well . . . swung by himself. Gunthor stumbled. It wouldn't seem like much to some, but Drizzt and Entreri understood the magnitude of the blow Druia had just delivered if it made this behemoth stumble. They didn't waste their time.  
With his weight on his heels and his arms up trying to regain his balance, Gunthor was defenseless. Drizzt and Entreri attacked his legs. He rendered blows that should have cleaved the legs off anyone else, but instead their enchanted weapons bit only a few inches into his skin. Entreri sank his jeweled dagger into a thigh, and then the fight took a turn.  
Styne had breathed life into the golem so it could act and think on its own, but now Entreri was sucking that life away, and as a result, Gunthor's reactions became less and less acute and aware. Drizzt saw there was something unnatural going on, and could tell from the lack of blood on his weapons that this was some sort of magical construct. But if it had been constructed, it could be destructed.  
Just as Gunthor started to regain his balcance, Drizzt raked Twinkle hard along the back of his knee. The blade bit deep, severing tendons and muscles. Balance was again an issue for the giant, and he leaned heavily against the corridor on his left shoulder. The drow used the collapsing knee as a step, and attacked the sword weidling arm. Gunthor was fast losing the ability to fight as Entreri took his life away, and his strike faltered as Drizzt's blades tore into his shoulder and elbow.  
His arm went limp, and as Entreri deconstructed the knee in front of him, the golem toppled to the ground. The two fighters leaped on top of their enemy, gouging out eyes, and tearing apart limbs.  
"I think he's dead," Druia said, interrupting the pair. Her pike was collapsed and stored on her side.  
"I'm not so sure he was ever really alive," Drizzt responded.  
Druia walked over to the Thunder Blade where it lay on the ground next to Gunthor's head. She lifted the pommel of the weapon, straining under the weight, and realizing she could never carry it, but that wasn't her intention. Closing her eyes, and falling into another trance, she slowly lifted the great sword with both hands, bringing the weapon over her head till the sword was parallel with the ground. Her body suddenly snapped forward, the blade arcing over her toward the ground and severing Gunthor's head. All three of them admired their kill for a few moments before continuing up the corridor.  
The hallway emptied into the main foyer that Drizzt had admired when he had arrived. It was filled with spiraling staircases and random balconies. It also held a dozen apprentices waiting for them. The two groups faced off each other, each realizing clearly who held the upper hand.  
"Time to die," one of the mages said, and they all cast.  
  
* * *  
  
As Styne dove in, he was almost overwhelmed by the flood of energy. And that's what it was really: a flood - no - a sea of energy. Deltrophan was engulfed in the ocean of life. He was a ship resting in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight.  
Styne studied this ship, trying to find its weak points, seeing if it could be capsized or punctured. It was impenetrable. It was a beast of a ship. Its massive girth contradicted the fact that it should float, but it did. It not only floated, but it was anchored to the ocean floor, never to be moved.  
Styne studied the anchor. It wasn't going anywhere. It had been there so long that the ocean floor had almost covered it, but it too was a massive thing, cast iron and as large as a whale. It had grown into the ocean floor. And there was no weak link in its chain. Styne followed it back up to the ship, examining each link, desperate to find some chink in his enemy's armor.  
There had to be a weak link somewhere. Eternal life was unnatural. It was an abomination and an affront to all things of nature. Deltrophan could disguise this anomaly as well as his ability allowed, but there had to be a weakness somewhere. All of the pieces could not fit together smoothly. Nature would not allow it.  
But the chain securing the boat to the ocean floor was flawless. The chain was anchored to the boat almost as aggressively as it was at the other end. The crank and handle were equally unmovable, bolted to the floor in the recesses of the ship with four mammoth bolts, tightened down so they-  
Styne paused as he looked at the bolts. One of them didn't sit quite flush. He looked closer. There was something wedged under the head of the bolt. It was nothing really, just a spec. It was the tiniest grain, but it was a grain of reality, and it wasn't going away. It was the only imperfection but it had to be there to show that what existed here was not natural.  
Styne tested the bolt. It wasn't exactly loose, but the spec of reality holding it up gave it the slightest bit of play. Styne leaned on it with all of his considerable magical energy and it began to turn. Slowly at first, but as the Styne worked it around, the bolt began to turn faster.  
The spec grew.  
The rift of reality in this fabricated existence expanded as the bolt rose and lifted free. The anchor crank creaked. The free corner slowly lifted up as if the weight of all infinity was tugging back on the anchor chain. The hardened steel began to fold like paper, cracks and rips slowly working their way through the structure. The other bolt heads sheared off, and the crank was ripped from the ship and tossed into the suddenly turbulent ocean.  
The spec had filled the ship, leaning it to one side. The previously sturdy ship was now as topsy-turvy as top ending its spin. The ocean too was no longer calm and tossed the ship about as if it suddenly realized that it was there, and wanted nothing to do with it. Styne distanced himself as he watched the ocean rip the ship apart, its destruction escalating quickly, ending in a tumultuous finale that wiped the ship from view and left the ocean's surface suddenly calm.  
Styne blinked himself back to reality inside the cavern and watched the light fade from Deltrophan's eyes. Blood finally gushed from his wounds and breath left his lungs. The powerful mage croaked out a hollow rattle, and he was dead.  
A shudder went through the cavern and all of the fighting on the floor ceased. There were only a few mages left, and they all turned to look up to the ledge where their master lay dead, crumpled against the wall. Styne demanded their attention standing tall and strong. There was a bit of an aura about him too. He radiated power and even the few goblins remaining cowered before him.  
There were half a dozen fighters left as well and they sheathed their weapons, realizing that the battle for the cavern was won. Styne smiled at them all. This was his army, and he planned on flourishing. Gunthor had done a good job of keeping everyone inside the cavern, he would have to- He paused. Gunthor wasn't guarding the exit anymore.  
  
* * *  
  
Druia, Entreri, and Drizzt each bolted in separate directions. The mages were coordinated too. The floor beneath the fighters instantly turned to ice as three other mages fired lightning bolts while three more tried hold spells. Right now, mind magic was not the strongest with magical disruptions from the war down below and the hold attempts failed, but the other spells were very effective.  
Druia had gone straight up, leaping 15 feet into the air. The bolt aimed at her missed originally, but bounced off the ice coated floor and wall, striking her in the legs. Her moccasins protected her somewhat, but as he grabbed a hold of a balcony railing and hoisted herself up and over, her legs were spasming and weak.  
Entreri went to the right, leaping just before the ice hit. His dagger was out in a flash as he angled himself to land on his hands. The steel weapon bit into the ice, giving the assassin leverage to roll forward and off the slick surface. The bolt aimed at him missed completely, bouncing off the floor and wall but then into a wooden staircase right in front of him, showering him with splinters.  
Drizzt's bracers gave him a distinct advantage, moving him away from the target zone quicker than his companions, but as the ice hit, his fast moving feet slipped completely out from under him, and he went down hard. This saved him, as the bouncing bolt aimed at his way passed just over his head. The drow was prone now, though. He quickly rolled to the side, got up, and sprinted across the open room, magical attacks trailing at his heels.  
Just as the mages got smart enough to lead the drow, Drizzt leaped into the air, touched off briefly on a spiral banister, and shot in the opposite direction to catch a chandelier and swing to a near by balcony.  
Meanwhile, Entreri shrugged of the scratches and cuts from the exploding splinters, and quickly swung around from underneath the staircase and ran up it. Five magic missiles were sent in pursuit, and even though the seasoned fighter knew they were magically guided, he dodged anyway, stopping short on the staircase. He watched as the glowing orbs, turned sharply from where he would have been to where he was, splashing painfully into his chest.  
Normal men would have been stunned badly, some losing consciousness. Entreri too would have normally been stopped in his tracks, a sitting duck for a few seconds, but having so recently fed off Gunthor's magical life through his dagger, this magical attack merely brought him back to a normal adrenaline level.  
His enemies didn't have to know that, and he acted as if he were bad off, struggling for balance and grabbing hold of a support rope. Just as the mages cast to finish him off, Entreri cut through the taunt rope, launching him into the air just above the fireballs and acid arrows below.  
The other end of the rope supported the chandelier to which Drizzt had leaped. Drizzt had wanted to swing to a neighboring balcony, but as he plummeted down it was Entreri who was pulled toward the balcony. Drizzt let go of the massive brass ring just as it crashed into a collection of mages. The ranger rolled with the fall, coming up in front of two other startled apprentices. He made short work of them, as they hadn't thought to raise melee protection spells and then ran for cover as the floor exploded with another spell.  
Entreri alighted only briefly on the balcony, watching below him as the chandelier sent four mages scrambling. He dropped from his perch just as more offensive fire power was sent his way. He flipped to the ground, cut up two of the four mages, and then rolled out of the way as the assaulted balcony he had just been on came crashing down on the group.  
Of the twelve mages that had been waiting for them, only 6 remained who could cast. The four Entreri had disposed of were still alive, but in no position to concentrate on spells. As far as the trio's casualties, Drizzt had a slightly sprained ankle and a bruised arm. Entreri had cuts on his face, and up on a balcony, hidden from view, feeling was just returning to Druia's legs.  
She peeked over the edge of the wooden railing, appreciating the effective diversion. The remaining mages stood in two areas. Druia eyed the larger of the two groups while they prepared to lash out again at the two dancing fighters down below. However, she could also tell that two of them were bracing themselves for melee. She had to get them before they dropped protections on themselves.  
It was a monstrous leap, but with a few short second of meditation, the monk-trained fighter leaped high through the air, flipping toward her enemies. More amazing than the distance of her jump was the soft landing, made softer by the fact she landed on one of the four mages. Her pike was out quickly, dispatching the second and sweeping towards the other two. They turned to meet the attack with massive damage spells at their finger tips. They wisely held them in check at this close range, but could not dodge Druia's weapon.  
The sharp tip of the pike cut deep through their robes, drawing a line of blood on their chests. They stumbled back and then over as both Drizzt and Entreri buried a dagger in their backs from halfway across the room.  
The three turned to look toward the remaining two apprentices, having noted earlier that they were near the exit of the large foyer, and wouldn't be surprised to find them retreating. The exact opposite was the case. They were reinforced.  
Close to 20 students quickly filled the area in front of the exit. All the other doors led to rooms or deeper into the palace. The three fighters were standing out in the open and short of breath, nowhere to hide. The group in front of them smiled and prepared to cast.  
At that moment, back in the cavern below, Deltrophan died.  
The whole house shuddered, and a few apprentices fell to their knees. Though they weren't going to be able to cast for a few moments, they still blocked the exit . . . at least the traditional one. Drizzt led the trio toward one of the elaborate stained glass windows, hoping in mid leap that panes weren't held in place with metal working. They weren't.  
As the three fighters crashed through the glass and landed in the suddenly dying and decaying forest surrounding the palace, fireballs and lighting bolts nipped at their heels. The attacks were a blessing in disguise, for with the trees around them suddenly assuming their actual age instead of the suspended life Deltrophan had kept them in, they caught fire as if they had been soaking in oil for the past millennia. The fire stayed behind them, shutting off any chance of pursuit.  
Drizzt hacked through the collapsing forest around them till they found the now rotted boardwalk leading back to the beach. The boards could barely support their weight as they ran toward the coast. Drizzt used his elven grace and weight to his advantage keeping himself from crashing through the rotted wood while Druia and Entreri used common sense, keeping their footfalls over the studs supporting the planks.  
The forest fire was quickly growing out of control all around them. With Icingdeath on his hip, Drizzt didn't fear the flames, but Druia and Entreri quickened their already hurried pace. The trio escaped just ahead of the flames as they emptied on to the beach. They all stopped. As distressing as the collapsing dock was, their bigger concern was that only the crow's nest of the rotted and sunken ship was visible above the waves.  
  
* * *  
  
Inside the bowels of the island, Styne tried to gain control of the situation. His army had seemed subjective to him after Deltrophan had died, but that was before the cavern had started to cave in. Styne quickly erected a stone skin around himself as a few rocks began to pelt him. He had to stop the decay. He needed to reinstall life into this dying island. It had been easy to do to himself, and also easy to do with Gunthor, but trying to wrestle with this island was a bit more challenging.  
As with most islands, in the middle of nowhere, this one was an extinct volcano, and as the rest of the island died, the volcano was coming to life. Styne reached out to the screaming island to try and soothe its pain. The tumultuous power of an awakening volcano, as enormous as it seemed, paled in comparison to that of life itself from which Styne drew his power.  
As Styne threw himself into the task, he paused as he felt a rock hit him in the head. The stone skin he had just erected had already been dispelled by the constant peppering of rocks form the unstable ceiling. He erected a double stone skin, and then went back to work to try and fix the unstable ceiling.  
Through a portal in the abyss, Errtu watched all the events unfold within the cavern. He was not happy. His ticket back to the physical realm hinged on Gunthor winning the tournament. Not only was Gunthor dead, but the tournament was gone too. Now he was watching Styne grow in power every second. He watched as he slowly wrestled the island back under control and knew that the powerful mage would never honor their arrangement now. Styne would be far more inclined to kill the demon than to end his banishment should he show himself on the island.  
Errtu didn't like being cheated or lied to, but he also realized confronting Styne right now would not be the smartest thing he could do. The mage was wrestling with a volcano and winning. Instead, he reached through the portal, and using his minor telekinetic powers, tugged a bit at the unstable ceiling over Styne's head.  
Back in the cavern the rumbling quieted. The scrambling goblins and fighters slowly stopped their frenzied race for the exit and looked up at their new master. Styne slowly opened his eyes with his arms stretched out, absorbing the strength of the new life around him. He had done it! Against all odds he had defeated the most powerful mage in the realms and taken his place of power. The whole world would now bow to him. He would have to answer to no-  
A small pebble landed in his upturned hand. Styne regarded it contemplatively, realizing that his stoneskin spell must have expired. No matter. With Deltrophan's extensive spell library open to him now, he would be able to protect himself beyond his wildest dre-  
A small shower of dirt and pebbles struck him in the head. As he brushed them out of his hair, he looked up just in time to see a chunk of rock the size of a building crush him to a pulp. Looking through his portal, Errtu laughed.  
With Styne dead, the island exploded.  
  
* * *  
  
From the beach the sight was spectacular. The island was already burning and smoke filled the air, but when the top blew, the shock wave cleared the air and vivid jet of lava rocketed into the sky.  
Drizzt, Entreri, and Druia were launched backwards into the water, their ears ringing from the explosion. The three of them watched in horror as the lava, ash, and debris arched high into the air, realizing with dread that it would have to come down soon.  
"Quickly," Drizzt said, pulling Icingdeath from his sheath, "grab a hold of my weapon; it will protect you from fire."  
Entreri and Druia didn't move. Nothing was going to protect them from the destruction in front of them. Nothing short of a miracle. Drizzt's enthusiasm dissipated as he two realized his weapon wasn't going to help him.  
In front of them, the trees burned and then were quickly extinguished as a flood of lava rolled over them. Glancing up at the sky, it would be a race to see which wave of destruction would hit them first. The trio slowly waded backwards into the water hoping for some minor protection from the coming onslaught.  
"This is it," Entreri said soberly and the sky darkened above and rocks began to splash down around them. The heat was intense, the sky burned, the water churned, and Drizzt couldn't watch. He fell backwards into the water with his eyes closed, the sound of splashes all around him. This was not how it was supposed to end. This isn't what Thelania had hinted at. He was supposed to do great things yet with his life. Now his life had come to simply waiting for the end to wash over him.  
It never did.  
The sounds faded away around him as his mind began to drift. He was lying in the water a few inches from the bottom, gently rocking with the waves, oblivious to the commotion around him. It seemed as if he could hold his breath for ever lying there comfortably. Soon it all disappeared, the water, the waves, the heat, everything. Outside, the sun finally dipped below the horizon. Soon it was only Drizzt and the peaceful calm.  
  
* * *  
  
Drizzt opened his eyes slowly. He lay there for quite a while before it even dawned on him that he should be trying to figure out where he was. He was in bed, his bed. He was in his cabin aboard the Sea Sprite. He sat up slowly and gently, his head a bit foggy. How did he get here? Where had he been?  
"How do you feel?"  
Coming from the darkness of his room, the voice would have scared most, but it was calm and lovely, not in the least bit startling. Thelania materialized at the foot of his bed. "How much do you remember?"  
Drizzt paused in thought staring at his sheets. "It all feels like a dream," he looked up, "but I suppose it wasn't." Thelania smiled shaking her head. "And the others?"  
"They are all waking up in their respective beds, wondering if what they remember was real or just a dream."  
"Only they don't have their sponsors to confirm their memories," Drizzt reasoned. Drizzt sincerely hoped he would never meet Entreri again, but if he did he wondered if this instance would ever come up. "What of the tournament?"  
"It is over. You three were the only ones to escape from the island. That evil has been vanquished." She paused to make sure Drizzt knew she spoke the next line with full meaning. "Thank you Drizzt Do'Urden."  
Drizzt smiled. He appreciated praise and thanks, not because his ego demanded it, but because it let him know that his deeds and actions had meaning and influenced people's lives. No one would know what he had done here. Even those involved that escaped might not realize what happened. But Drizzt knew that Thelania knew and that meant Mielikki knew. That was all that was important.  
"Get some sleep," the ghaele said gently. "You deserve it."  
As she disappeared, Drizzt lay down, rolled over, and drifted off to sleep.  
  
The END 


End file.
